The House Always Wins
by StripedFuzzySocks
Summary: Ever since Sam won the Hunger Games, Dean's life has been a living hell. His training is intensified, his dad won't be happy until he volunteers himself, and Sam still won't stop shaking. So it's a relief when he finally does overcome his nerves to continue the Career legacy, nothing to stand in his way. Except, maybe, the odd blue-eyed boy from Twelve who refuses to fight.
1. Soldier Off to Battle

_A/N: Warning: some strong language and heavy violence/gore ahead. That's all, enjoy._

* * *

Sam might've been Dean's baby brother, but that didn't change the fact that he was a six foot four killing machine with the looks of a star and the toned body of an athlete you really didn't want to cross. Granted, an athlete that slaughtered for sport but Dean refused to think of it that way. The point was, Sam was the Capitol's _God_ and District 1's gold-clad warrior, and ever since that one fateful day when he stepped onto the stage a volunteer and then out of the tribute train a Victor, Dean's life had changed for the worst.

He was happy for Sam of course - no, _overjoyed_ \- but even he couldn't deny that his brother's victory had made his life a living hell at the academy. Dean was already fairly popular at school thanks to his own charms, but his brother a Victor? Dean was patented royalty. It was the trainers that ruined it, suddenly feeling the need to crack down extra hard on classes and physical workouts to the point where suddenly collapsing in public of out of exhaustion became his new norm. Everyone knew all too well that the most honorable act one could achieve was win the games for their District, bring home a crown and live in history, but Dean never actually planned on going in himself.

The whole reason he'd attended District 1's pompous Hunger Games Academy in the first place was to please his grieving father who wanted nothing more than Victors for sons after their mother perished in her own games. They married young and she was the top of her class, perfectly suited to be that year's chosen volunteer. No one saw it coming when District 2's hulking Azazel plunged his butcher knife deep in her stomach until it was too late. Dean remembered that sickening moment being replayed over and over on TV, having to watch his mother's pretty blonde hair flutter lifelessly behind as she fell dead before she hit fiery ground. It was awful.

But worst of all, their dad was never quite the same after that either. By that point he was too old for the games himself, but Dean was certain that if he could jump in now and tear up the arena into his own personal bloodbath for her he would in a heartbeat... it terrified him actually. He'd never admit it, but there were times when Dean's dad truly terrified him. Whether he had suddenly exploded in a fit of rage during training or he was absently watching Mary's game in an eerie silence, Dean was scared sometimes.

That was truthfully his only reason for continuing at that damn academy, just to make him happy so he'd stop with the whole "vengeance with a Victor" quest. He'd been fiercely opposed to the idea of Sammy attending with him, but standing up to his dad wasn't something pre-teen Dean had been good at. Even worse, Sam seemed to have a natural talent for butchering and it didn't take long before the previously nervous fresh meat became the academy's top pick for a volunteer - and at only sixteen years old too. Any kid younger than eighteen was highly unlikely to be picked, which was precisely why Dean had refused to let himself worry about it. How wrong he was.

Dean begged - _oh how he begged_ \- for Sam not to go in, not to his raise his hand and throw his whole life away for their dad's delusions, but there was no swaying the boy. He was bound by his pride and determined to win. Dean wasn't the type to pray, but he could've sworn he'd groveled to at least eighty different gods for the four weeks that Sam spent in Panem's spotlight. And then somehow... somehow he came back. Dean's baby brother came back not in a box, not missing limbs or in a state of disfiguration, he came _back_. And Dean had no idea which god he had to thank for that.

"Sam the Snapper" was his media-dubbed nickname for all the necks he'd ruthlessly snapped with bare hands in true Career fashion, and the Capitol just _ate that act up_. The brothers couldn't even have a decent reunion until about a week later when all the reporters finally decided to leave them the hell alone and head out. It wasn't until then either that Dean got to fully appreciate the small act of a hug. Hell, he hadn't even fully appreciated his brother until then - but it felt so good to feel Sammy concrete, real, breathing, undoubtedly _alive_ right next to him that he swore to never again take the feeling for granted. He didn't even care about all the atrocities he'd seen his brother carry out onscreen, or how it seemed at times he'd lost his soul (_Headline: Soulless is the New Sexy_).

All that mattered was that he survived. Dean could deal with that.

Inevitably, nightmares and trauma followed and he was there as much as he could be in-between school and their dad's extra training (increased by double with heightened expectations), but he still felt like he missed too much. He had no idea what actually being in the arena was like, but gauging from Sam's withdrawn, misty look that ranged from shock to misery... Dean knew he didn't want to volunteer. Even so, that steady resolve of his would so often shake beneath his dad's voice constantly ringing in his ears: _"Sam's younger by two whole years and he's already brought home more than you've given in a lifetime! Do you even care about your mother? Does her death mean nothing to you? What about this family? This district? Or does saving your own pathetic waste of skin matter more?"_ There was more, the words never ceasing their torment.

Even though Dean told himself time and time again he'd never do it... there was a small part of him that wanted nothing more than to outshine his brother's achievement. He sometimes amused himself with the look of pride on his father's face when he came home in a crown, his moment of victory forever entombed for the world to remember. They'd all remember the Winchester brothers, which meant they wouldn't forget their mother. That was the whole point, right? To not let her death be in vain? Imagine if the Capitol loved him even more than Sam... what'd his face be then? Jealous? Dean would then shake the fantasy away as quickly as it came.

It wasn't worth his life. But... but it was.

Exactly one year from the reaping that made "Sam the Snapper" legend, Dean's voice shook the town square of District 1, directing everyone's eyes to his lonely spot in the audience. _I volunteer._ As he marched dutifully up to the diamond adorned stage, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at the Victors' panel sitting idly on the far left, four of them in total. Bobby Singer, the District's first Victor, was half out of his chair in fury and Dean suddenly remembered all the reasons why he was his favorite teacher. He'd laugh if he wasn't going into a death match. Sam's face was devoid of all color and Dean quickly averted his gaze to meet that of Lucifer, Sam's former mentor, nearly bent over in uncontrolled laughter. He always was a bit of an asshole. The Victors' final member offered slightly raised eyebrows, which coming from Bela Talbot was more terrifying than all the others combined. For once, none of them planned the volunteer. The one they did plan, a jacked Southern sweetheart called Benny, was wearing a mask of barely concealed rage.

"_Well,_" Gabriel, the Capitol's frilly pink escort, hadn't the slightest idea the severity of what had just occurred and simply continued on his role as Dean stepped up to stand beside him. "Isn't this volunteer a first-class beauty, huh folks? What's your name, handsome?"

Dean leaned in towards the microphone, forcibly swallowing down his anxieties with a smirk. "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I came to win."

If Gabriel wasn't already swooning before, he sure was then. "Well, _well!_ Watch out for this one everybody, the Sexy Snapper has an even _sexier_ sib coming to play!"

The escort even giggled as he instructed his two solemn tributes to shake hands, taking a step back for space. Dean's new partner, Ruby, swiftly took his hand with a grip that denied hesitation and he returned it with equal strength. They made eye contact then, cool green eyes matching her fiery brown ones filled with both curiosity and the promise of pain. They spent a few seconds trying to break each other's hands until Gabriel stepped in and led them separately into the Justice Building.

Oh God. What had he done?

Two Peacekeepers escorted Dean through marble halls, his breath becoming more and more ragged with each step. One of them reached out to place a hand on his shoulder in an act of sympathy, and looking up Dean saw his light hair and eyes mark him as a fellow One. He forced himself to take a deep breath and draw strength from the silent encouragement. At least it calmed him down a bit. The other Peacekeeper opened a door to a small office and gestured for him to go inside. It was pretty sparse, just a couch and table with a chunk of amethyst Dean guessed was supposed to be decoration. Slowly, he sank into the couch biting down on his coat sleeve to keep from screaming. He... he actually did it. He was there. _Oh God._

"My boy." Dean snapped his head up to see his father standing in the doorway, all smiles and warmth like he'd never seen him before.

He blinked to make sure he wasn't crying and nearly sighed out of relief to find himself dry. John walked forward with his arms open wide for embrace and Dean awkwardly hugged back. It wasn't comforting. It was bewildering. His father never gave either of them this much attention under any circumstance, but he supposed this time was different. Dean was finally going to become his other trophy son, that or a martyr. Soldiers were all John ever really wanted out of his children and now that dream was complete; whether or not Dean actually came back was a non-issue. After a final congratulatory pat on the back, his dad retreated, looking his eldest son up and down for seemingly the first time.

"Make Mary proud like your brother, Dean." He intoned. "Bring honor to her name." He sighed contentedly, but then almost as an afterthought squeezed his son's shoulder with an iron grip.

_"I want you to go out there and make those fuckers from District 2 suffer, you hear me?"_ He whispered, earning a small but determined nod from Dean. He smiled again.

"I'll be watching, son." John let the door swing shut behind him, leaving Dean to feel even worse off than before. But that was nothing compared to his next visitor. Barely a minute had passed since John's leave before Sam burst into the room red-faced and _fast_, all evidence of his former anguish dissolved into a cold fury. Dean didn't even get the chance to stand before he was back-handed across the left side of his face. Shock prevented him from stopping the next blow from landing.

"What the fuck, Dean?!" Sam screamed, his voice resonating hurt like a wounded animal. "Are you trying to prove something or are you just that much of an idiot?"

"You can't kill me." Dean wisecracked, but that was all he could get out before Sam's hand came down again. Hard.

"DON'T YOU SEE THAT I DON'T HAVE TO." He panted. "You. Are going. To _die_. You are not _fucking_ ready, do you hear me?"

"You don't know that I'm not ready." Dean's eyes narrowed as he finally rose to take a defensive position against his brother.

Sam raised his hand again with Dean ready to fight back, but both of them froze at the sound of his door being burst open from behind.

"Get. Out. Now."

Sam visibly flinched at the ice cold voice, turning tentatively to meet Lucifer's deadpanned gaze boring into him with contempt.

"He's not your tribute. Leave us alone." There was no power at all behind Sam's shaking words. He was staring at the ground.

"I said _get out_." Lucifer repeated dangerously. Swallowing, Sam slowly trudged over to the exit blocked by his former mentor, fully unprepared for the man's arm to forcefully drape itself around his shoulders as if they were old friends, his whole demeanor changing into one of friendly cheer. Lucifer, the man Dean remembered watching gut open a twelve-year-old, grinned widely and ruffled Sammy's hair in a way a loving father would if they had one. _Right._ He recalled suddenly. _He's the bipolar Victor._

"Awe cheer up, buddy. At least you always got me." Lucifer drawled, just then glancing over at Dean's rattled form by the couch. "Besides, he is my tribute. Our generous Capitol thought you would like some R and R after your whole 'game trauma' thing. Sit back, watch some TV. I'll take it over from here."

Sam blinked, not quite comprehending. "But... I-I was told -,"

"Nope, Dean's mine this go-round." Lucifer grinned and playfully ruffled Sam's hair again before shoving him outside. "Happy Vacation!"

Both brothers' harried protests fell on deaf ears as the old Victor slammed the door behind him, casually checking Dean out from where he still stood indignant to the whole thing. The man really was an oblivious basket case.

"I at least get to say goodbye! I have three whole minutes left!" Dean shouted. Lucifer looked him over and frowned.

"Not when there's work to be done. We have to talk about the parade." He stated plainly as if that explained everything.

"I have three more minutes." Dean practically ground out, mentally willing the other to bend. _That's no damn goodbye._

"But you volunteered." Lucifer countered. "If you really plan on coming back, then you don't need to say goodbye."

He took a step forward. "You _do_ plan on coming back, right?"

That question was met with silence and Dean ending up spending the rest of his goodbye time mulling over plans of action. It wasn't like he had any other family to talk to anyways. And he _would_ come back. He had to. That night, the tributes, their mentors, and Gabriel ate their dinner in silence aboard the train. Apart from Dean and Ruby occasionally communicating in glares, the only sound filling the air was chewing and gulping until Bela was first to break the silence.

"What exactly are you two planning on doing with your Career alliance?" She asked in her trademark cool indifference.

"Join them obviously. Keep an eye out. Trust nobody." Dean shared through a mouthful of apple pie. Ruby grimaced in clear disgust, then of course he had to make a point of chewing with his mouth open. Rolling her eyes, she spoke up next purposefully dignified in manner.

"There's no way I can formulate a strong enough plan without first watching the Reaping recaps." She said, absently messing with her knife as she did so. "That would be incredibly stupid, not to mention reckless."

"Love you too." Dean grumbled through another oversized bite.

Bela shrugged, taking in one last sip of wine before standing to make her way to the train's living area. "Then I guess we have ourselves some Reapings to watch. Shall we?"

Ruby smirked and dutifully followed her mentor out, Dean trailing them albeit slower out of stubborn rebellion. Lucifer stayed right where he'd passed out in his chair while Gabriel hurriedly rushed along with them after stuffing his face with one last candy bar. First up was their own district: luxury. Gabriel groaned in dejectedness over his outfit choice while Dean once again watched Ruby storm up the stage before the reaped name was half pronounced and then himself stepping up in a similar fashion, now getting a better view of everyone's reactions to his breaking the academy rule. His old friend Benny could've strangled him right then if it weren't for his girlfriend, Andrea, holding him back. Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for that one. He knew Benny wanted more than anything to be the academy's top pick, and it was his last year of eligibility too. But it was also Dean's.

District Two's volunteers, a tough looking girl named Jo and a sassy prick by the name of Balthazar who was quick to smart mouth his escort, both locked into Dean's mind to warrant caution. Not just in strength or brutality, but the fact that the Capitol was already adoring them. And although he despised what his father had done to their family, Dean couldn't help but feel the need to enact vengeance upon Azazel by making sure neither of his tributes died with honor when the time came. District Two was the enemy. Three was less exciting; a stone-faced redhead named Charlie bit her lip and fought tears on stage, and the boy called Kevin actually did cry as his mother wailed injustice from the crowd. Dean tried his best to feel nothing.

District Four had a girl named Meg volunteer, and Dean could already tell her overly cocky attitude was going to annoy him to no ends in the arena. A scrawny boy called Garth was reaped, but no one volunteered to take his place. Ruby scoffed and sing-songed _"bloodbath"_ just loud enough so Dean could boil with hate inside. He couldn't deny her claim, but that also didn't mean he was going to go around flaunting the kid's inevitable death. He wasn't heartless. District Five had Lisa and Adam, both of whom seemed to be nothing less than sweethearts. They'd both die soon. District Six's girl was by far the youngest at barely thirteen, and Krissy held the cameras and crowd in a withering glower of dissent. The boy, Andy, seemed to shrink in comparison.

District Seven's tributes both looked promising. Gwen Campbell saluted to the camera and swore honor to her district's name, and the boy Gordon was strong and terse with his language. Even Ruby seemed a little apprehensive. District Eight reaped a dark-haired girl by the name of Pamela who thanked the Capitol for her golden opportunity with barbed sarcasm dripping from her every word. The boy, Samandriel, was plain terrified. District Nine's girl was named Lenore and she wordlessly took her place in a state of tearful shock, ignoring everything and everyone in the process; including her partner, another buff guy named Uriel.

District Ten had an eerily serene girl named Tessa whose demeanor gave nothing away, and a boy called Ash wearing ragged impoverished clothes and a crooked grin for the cameras. A Capitol commentator jokingly placed all his bets on just the boy's mullet. District Eleven's Amy Pond burst into tears as soon as she heard her name and had to be dragged sobbing onstage. Their boy was a little better in terms of chances; Jake looked ready to tear out his escort's throat. The only district left to review was the very bottom of the barrel: twelve. If One was the Capitol's spoiled lapdog, Twelve was its ugly stepchild adorned in rags and coal dust. They hadn't even a proper victor yet, just starving bloodbath kids. Dean almost didn't think it was worth staying awake to watch, but then again he didn't want to appear weak in front of his less than friendly company. So he stayed.

The first name drawn was Anna Milton - another redhead - and with a look of horror, she climbed the dusty steps with eyes glazed in disbelief. She looked to be about eighteen, so close to escaping the reaping forever only to get reeled back in at the last moment. Dean almost felt sorry for her before he remembered where his priorities lie. Ruby just looked bored. Then the escort clad in diamond turquoise dipped her bedazzled hand into the boy's bowl, the surrounding crowd holding their breath. _Castiel Novak. _A part of the guy's section parted to isolate a shell-shocked boy with fair skin and piercing blue eyes, looking around in confusion as if waiting for a savior. But, of course, there was none. It's Twelve, after all.

Seemingly with great effort, the boy forced himself to trudge forward to the gallows where his companion waited with still glossed eyes and he appeared to be praying. Dean had seen a lot of tragedy in a life training for the Hunger Games, but for some reason this particular boy with his silly oversized trench coat and dusty button-up and blue tie supposed to be fancy, with his solemn, faithful presence staring out at a certain face in the crowd... something about Castiel Novak broke Dean's heart. The escort called for volunteers, but the crowd was silent as death. The chosen two were escorted inside the Justice Building and the screen switched back to the Capitol's annoying Games hosts, causing Dean to angrily switch the program off before he even knew what he was doing.

"Hey, _some_ of us are trying to watch, thank you!" Gabriel protested, snatching back the remote in irritation.

Bela sighed and left without comment, Dean following in silence. Both Ruby and Gabriel stayed behind to listen to an obnoxious cohost mock the Novak boy's shabby outfit and appearance, even calling Twelve's tributes "especially slow this year" and Dean could've bashed in her head right then. He wasn't sure what had come over him in the mining district, but he knew he had to get over it if he wanted to survive and return to Sammy. He made a promise after all, and no one ever said winning the Hunger Games was easy. Dean remembered last year when Sam and the Career pack cornered Nine's girl armed only with a small throwing knife. She tried running, cried and pleaded for her life, but before anyone could make a move, Sam wrapped his arms around her neck and snapped it. It was quick, painless. Merciful.

Dean would give a good speech for innocent Castiel on his Victory Tour and then his slate would be clean. It'd all be fine. Dean could win. The next day, their silver train pulled into the Capitol bright and early, forcing Dean to wake up much sooner than he liked to meet with the press. As expected, he faced question after question regarding his brother's victory and if he could live up to the legacy himself, but with a strain he kept up the whole snarky bad boy routine to a T. The rest of the day he got to spend under stylists' watchful eyes and tools (an assistant quick to introduce herself as Becky was _especially_ watchful...), until he could comfortably say he felt like a painted whore.

Apart from an elaborate gold and satin armor undergarment and a garishly red sash draped across his bare chest, Dean was stark naked. According to Becky and quite literally everyone else, the more of his perfect body the Capitol saw the more they'd love. Dean would've much preferred shrinking into the floor and hiding there, but he knew he had to brave it out regardless of his every instinct fighting against the slutty getup. His situation only got a little better when he saw Ruby's stylists had decided to dress her in the same fashion: golden armored bikini just held together with several ribbons of red satin. Her face also donned an outraged red, and for just one moment Dean actually felt himself fully in sync with his district partner.

"Nice ass, One." A husky male voice intoned from behind. Ruby whipped around immediately and made a rude gesture, but Balthazar just laughed and shook his head. His and Jo's beautifully elaborate suit and evening gown could only be described as 'diamond everything' and Dean felt a twinge of jealousy. Those were sure to snag sponsors.

"Not just you, sweetie." To Dean's surprise, the Two boy winked at him next and it took all he had to fight showing his embarrassment.

"Yeah, well you look like a unicorn just took a shit on you." Dean shot back in a heartbeat, causing both Twos to burst out laughing.

"Balthazar, and you must be Dean." He stretched out a head and Dean reluctantly took it. "I have a feeling you and I are going to be best friends."

_Not when I'm through with you._ He thought as the charismatic boy shook Ruby's hand next, and then the girl spoke up.

"I'm Jo." Their hands similarly shook and Dean found her grip to be surprisingly strong. _Definitely watch out for District Two._

"Have you already met the Four girl?" He asked out of curiosity. But before the blonde could answer, the showtime bell let out its shrill cry and Dean felt himself being yanked forward into bright lights and a thousand screaming fans. Fighting bile, he did his best to project confidence and strength in the face of millions, but he still felt outshined by Ruby, who despite her embarrassment, was actually exceptional at being engaging and flirtatious with the crowd, whereas the best Dean could do was sport a few cocky grins and flex his muscles. Which, admittedly, wasn't too bad for likability, but that damn Balthazar was still getting more roses. The routine was kept up the entire block on the way to the roundabout, and Dean could've sworn he only took a breath once their golden chariot finally stopped.

It was a good thing the Hunger Games weren't a complete beauty contest or else he would be screwed. The president stood up to take his standard speech, but having heard it a hundred times and more, Dean took the opportunity to glance around and see what ridiculous costumes the others got shoved in while he was getting humiliated. There didn't seem to be much in terms of creativity that year if he was honest: the Ten kids were painted black and white to resemble unflattering cows, the Elevens and Nines were both wheat bales much to their anger, and then there were the standard tree dresses and workers' uniforms made sexy. The only other costumes which stood out in Dean's mind were the neon light-up suits on District Three and the pirate/mermaid getup on Four. The Garth kid kind of made for a lousy pirate, but a dripping wet Meg clothed in just a seashell bra and tail was certainly eye-catching.

Bored gaze still wandering, Dean suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen with warning and he turned to see the Twelves once more, giggling and whispering. He hardened his stare on the two until they finally noticed and stopped immediately, faces flushed a deep red. Dean admittedly had felt himself forgetting about his stripper clothes as time passed by, but suddenly all that humiliation of being exposed to the world came flooding back and he had to actively work to keep his cool. Damn it, some coal kids from the slums of Twelve were not going to do this to him! The stakes were too high. The entire ride back, Dean made an even greater point of playing the audience, even engaging light-heartedly with Ruby a few times to make the crowd squeal with adoration. They didn't notice the subtle glares or tight grips the district partners had on the other of course, they were too caught up in the act.

Dean, Ruby, Jo, and Balthazar finally had proper introductions the next day at training and met up with Meg, who proved to be every bit as cocky and irritating in person as she was at the Reaping, but like every good Career pack, they all sucked it up and pretended to like each other. Balthazar was rather exceptional at handling a sword as Dean noticed at their first station, but as it turned out the prick's real talent was in hand-to-hand combat. He brought the trainer down in under a few seconds, crowing loudly in victory so the whole gym of tributes could revel in his prick-ness. Meg was alright with spears but great with a mace. Ruby was scary when armed with dual knifes and Jo could swing a heavy-weight axe like no one's business, but unlike the others she chose not to flaunt it which Dean respected. Finally an ally who was a decent human being.

Dean himself preferred a machete, but decided to downplay his talent in favor of hiding strength. There was no way to tell if any of his teammates were using the same strategy, but frankly Dean couldn't imagine either one of them with the necessary brain power. Unless they were hiding brain power, in which case they were doing a damn good job. Meanwhile, the rest of the tributes avoided them like the plague in favor of keeping their skins on until the actual Game and Dean honestly couldn't blame them. Ruby and Meg even had a game going where they tried to guess which kid would die first, labeling all the "bloodbaths" and deciding on a body count competition when the time came. It was disgusting to Dean, but he knew better than to voice that unpopular opinion and instead just laugh on cue. He caught glimpses every now and then of Castiel tying knots or burning things with Samandriel, and he could only assume they were allies. Why he bothered to take notice he'd never know.

And just like that, the three days of training were over and it was time to be scored individually by the Gamemakers. Dean had worked diligently in those three given days to appear adequate but nonthreatening in every area, but now it was finally time to showcase what he was really capable of. Fortunately, being from District One he didn't have to wait long and he was sure to have his audience at full attention having only seen Ruby beforehand. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the empty gym with a cocky grin and a confident stride, immediately whistling out a greeting and even adding a theatrical bow before he began the show. Without hesitation, Dean went straight for the machete he'd been eyeing the whole time with a lovely steel blade and comfortable grip, swinging it around for good measure before approaching the dummies.

A whole group of them were clustered in the center waiting to surround a cornered tribute and Dean was happy to oblige, stepping up to place and taking a deep breath before he released all he had. The form of fighting he treasured most back at the academy wasn't so much fighting as it was an art form. He twisted, spun, thrusted, stabbed and sliced his way through fake attackers and swiftly took the heads off several, which he could tell his assessors were especially impressed by. The Games haven't had a good beheading in awhile and the Capitol does love a good beheading. Within a few minutes, Dean was finished and he politely bowed once more before taking his leave. If he didn't get at least an eight on that he was going to be pissed.

For probably the first time since their arrival in the Capitol, the whole District One gang was together in one room to watch the training scores premiere live, and surprisingly Dean was actually grateful for the company. It was exhausting having to constantly think and plan out everything alone in his mind with no one to confide in, but here at least he had Lucifer who he was fairly certain wouldn't care enough to spill any of his plans and Gabriel who would likely forget anyway. Bela was passionate about the Games and highly intelligent when it came to plotting, but she'd made it clear early on her loyalties lied with her assigned tribute. Dean respected that, but he was still slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity he could've had to work with her.

Bela Talbot had always secretly been his favorite victor ever since she won her Games by pretending to be a bubbly airhead with a low training score and skill set, but once the countdown began so did her real genius. While the outer district kids were being weeded out, she picked off her own allies one by one and watched as the blame eventually fell on the shoulders of their leader, a brute called Zachariah. Tensions kept rising, blame being cast and allies shifting, and then suddenly on the morning of the last day, the Careers attacked the only other alliance left and all hell broke loose. There weren't even any clear sides in the midst of fighting as it soon became an every-man-for-himself, panic and confusion running rampant in the fray. Somewhere in the heat of battle, Bela had escaped to later return and stab the sole survivor in the back. It was brilliant.

Meanwhile, Dean's mentor Lucifer won with sheer savagery. He was the Careers' leader of course, and his tribute hunt could only be called ruthless. He set traps everywhere and slowly gutted each and every kid he found, demanding the whole group paint their faces red with the spilled blood. Red face paint sold like hot cakes in the Capitol for awhile because of it. When his group inevitably turned against each other, he moved fast with the slaughter as he hadn't the entire Game. The whole thing was nothing more than a massive gore fest and Dean would sooner die than follow in his mentor's footsteps. He had to make his mother proud after all. That wasn't to say he didn't still need the devil for sponsors, but in terms of advice he wouldn't rely on it too heavily.

The show opened with a flourish, as usual, with the host Michael Cohen cracking a few jokes and generally getting everyone pumped for the event, but Dean was far too impatient then to listen to the same routine. Ruby's face flickered onscreen first, wearing a perfect catlike grin promising either sexual mystery or bloody murder, but that was really the whole point of entertainment he supposed. Her attention to the screen was trained and hungry like a convict waiting for a ruling on the gallows and Dean couldn't help but share her apprehension in waiting.

"District 1, Ruby Cortese..." Micheal paused as he always did for dramatic effect which nearly drove her ballistic. "A nine."

She whooped and laughed madly as she stretched herself out on the couch, a content smirk now resting on her face.

"Beat that, 'Snapper' wannabe." Ruby taunted, and just like that Dean's small sympathies with her flew right back out the window.

"District 1, Dean Winchester..." He was scarcely breathing. _It can't be any lower than an eight, no lower than... _"A ten."

Lucifer shot up from the back of the room and let out an ear-splitting whistle while Gabriel giggled where he sat off to the side of the TV and sent him a thumbs-up. Dean could finally exhale and laugh himself at the sheer wonder of the number, thinking of how Sam and his dad were reacting back home knowing that he could very well be the next Victor after all. Ruby rolled her eyes and tried not to look bothered, but Dean could instantly tell she was pissed and the thought made him smile. Traditionally, the day after training scores was dedicated to the escort and mentors teaching tributes how conduct the perfect interview for that very night, but District 1's volunteers were always special in the sense that academies had as many classes in etiquette and crowd manipulation as they had in sword-fighting and combat. So, Dean and Ruby had the day to relax in the Tribute Center until their stylists came for them in the afternoon.

Dean had to admit, his pitch black suit adorned with hints of eye-catching red were a far cry from the outrageous parade costume now famous in the Capitol, so his usual practiced confidence was in full swing. Ruby also got to wear something nice and acceptable, as Michael light-heartedly joked during her interview. It was clear that her approach to popularity was still going for "sexy and mysterious", which aggravatingly enough was working as she had the audience swooning even after she model walked her way back offstage to a waiting Bela. Dean was next of course, still determined to keep up the snarky soldier personality better than Balthazar. It was his idea first after all, and he wasn't going to let the murder district of all places steal that from him too.

Dean and Micheal's chemistry was instant and only one minute in he had the audience roaring with laughter, some squealing in admiration whenever Dean's costume was even mentioned. He hated to think it, but his stylists really did know what they were doing when it came down to it. Once the easy part was over, Dean unfortunately had to face Michael's expected grilling regarding Sammy's Victory and his followup, to which he responded the same way his brother did a year ago when faced with the same question:

"I'm here to finish the fight my mother started. All I want to do is bring pride to her name and show Sammy what a real Victor looks like when I show him up in that arena."

What started off as sounds of sympathy quickly turned into huge bouts of laughter which was exactly what Dean wanted. He knew that if he let himself dwell too much on family he'd lose his tough-guy image instantly, and he couldn't have that with what was at stake. The interview wrapped itself up soon afterward and Dean gratefully took his escape, barely paying attention to the rest of the tributes' five minutes but noticing that Balthazar had less applause. Whether he had slutty golden armor or his brother's popularity to thank for it he'd never know, but in the meantime he relished in his small victory.

As for the others, Gordon, Gwen, Uriel, and Jake made it public that they had formed an alliance meant to rival the Careers which came as a shock to everyone, but Dean refused to let the information daunt him. All of them had been trained for _years_ to win the Games; just because some buff outer district kids decided to grow balls didn't mean they'd actually become a major threat when the time came. Still, he'd have to keep an eye out just in case it wasn't the best year to be in the Career pack. The rest gave average interviews saying goodbyes to family and friends and boasting small talents for sponsors, but other than Kevin and Charlie discussing their unusually high training scores and District 11's Amy announcing her pregnancy, Dean didn't catch any other big red flags.

He did, however, make a note to kill poor Amy off quick and merciful if he ever got the chance. The last thing that girl and her never-to-be-born child needed was to suffer. Last to speak was Castiel, wearing ironically a much fancier Capitol-made tan trench coat since his wearing one to the Reaping had taken up the bulk of his popularity with sponsors. Or lack thereof. In spite of himself, Dean almost wanted to laugh at the boy's predicament considering his outfit choice had actually been the last thing he'd noticed about him at his Reaping. First, it was his beautif - _nice_ \- blue eyes, then his saddening confused expression, his praying, his solemn look into the crowd, and then finally his silly tan trench coat. He was noticing too much about that boy and he already knew it.

Dean forced himself to leave halfway through his interview, refusing to hear the rest of his message to his father and many siblings; telling that no matter what he'd stick to his well-taught morals and love them forever. Dean had a family to love too. Maybe it wasn't perfect or built on the same values of a saint, maybe they weren't always there, but he swore on everything he had that he'd return to them. No matter the cost. That night, Dean stared blankly into the dark ceiling hanging above him and he chanted that mantra again and again until it was pounded into his head as a meaningless mix of sounds. _Soldier._ He was a soldier and he would return home to his broken little brother, he'd get to be there for him every day until their family was healed for good.

He was a soldier and he needed to perform his duty before he could rest. Being a soldier meant killing people and he'd known this fact from the start. If a genuinely good person like his mother could volunteer into the Games and kill, then it didn't have to be a bad thing. Without the Games, Panem would collapse at the sacrifice of many more lives than the names reaped. Lying wasn't as big a comfort as he'd hoped. In the end, Dean got maybe four good hours of sleep before the very unwelcome alarm sounded to greet a new day. His last day in the Capitol's lap. Hovercrafts came at sunrise and Dean got a whole sector to himself to share with Lucifer who was choosing that time to wolf down blueberry muffins like he'd never see food again despite being a spoiled Victor.

Needless to say, Dean wasn't counting on receiving any golden pieces of advice from the man one tick shy of a psychopath, but he was in for several surprises that day. Lucifer messily swallowed down one last chunk of pastry before speaking up, voice gruff and oddly humored.

"So, let's run through your hit list." He passed off casually, nearly causing Dean to choke on his eggs.

"I, um -," He swallowed what was left in his mouth before trying to form something coherent. "We... I have a plan? For who to kill?"

"Of course you do." Lucifer sighed again. "This is Bloodbath 101, my friend. I vote you eliminate District Three and that Castiel kid first. You can never get too trigger happy in the first few minutes or the Capitolites don't get their Game. Lessens your likability."

His mentor's last few words flew right over Dean's head as he heard the name _Castiel_ echo through their silent room. Castiel. _Castiel_ of all people. Lucifer cocked his head in an eerie faux innocence, his dead eyes boring into Dean's with a new terrifying intensity.

"_Dean._" He drawled. "Do you _like_ the Threes with threatening high scores? Or maybe you just like pretty boys with pretty blue eyes?"

"Don't be stupid." Dean shot back to hide flushing cheeks. He still heard Kevin's mom sobbing from the crowd. "I can try to pick targets the best I can from the start, but it'll be nearly impossible to follow through once everyone's running madly. That's just a fact."

Lucifer nodded absently, still staring him down without relent. "Do you think little Sammy wanted to stab Madison's heart out in the Bloodbath? Do you think he snapped Max's neck because he felt like it?" He leaned closer. "Do you think he threw Jessica Moore into that wildfire because it sounded like fun?"

_Dean snapped open his eyes in a panic, wildly scanning his surroundings to see what had awoken him. It was still pitch black in his plush Capitol bedroom which meant it still had to be somewhere in the middle of the night. That's when the screams started up again. In a heartbeat, Dean had his covers whipped off and was stumbling with __surprising speed down the long, dark hallway to his brother's room where another loud crash had sounded. Throwing the door open, he spotted him immediately: tall, muscled form writhing and screaming on mahogany floor all tangled up in his satin bedsheets. There might've been words, but the blankets muffled everything._

_Dean rushed to free his brother from his own trap, but it took longer than he liked with Sammy still kicking and bucking in every direction to try to escape himself. Eventually, he managed to uncover a familiar head of disheveled brown hair and a tear stained face, eyes shut tight. He could hear his heartbreaking sobs much clearer then, words begging forgiveness and screaming for help. "She's burning! Jess. Jess. Jess. Jess, I'm sorry, so sorry..." Dean shook him harshly until Sam's eyes finally flew open, drenched and bloodshot. Dean didn't return to his bed that night. He stayed and he stroked his brother's overlong hair, humming the tune of 'Hey Jude' until he finally stopped mumbling about burning flesh and lost apologies. Dean fell asleep himself leaned against the dresser._

"Jessica's not a joke, not to me. You understand?" Dean's tone was dangerous. Lucifer giggled - _giggled_ \- and held up his arms in defense.

"I'm just trying to prove a point here, Ken Doll. Believe it or not, the Hunger Games aren't actually about putting on some billionaire's tighty-whities and strutting your stuff for sponsors, nor has it got anything to do with 'honor'." Lucifer mocked his voice on the word as if he were claiming all Victors got unicorns. "The Games mean you kill to survive and preferably you also make a nice little show out of it."

Dean sighed. "I know, believe me. I'm not planning on going soft when the time comes, but I won't force innocents to suffer either."

Lucifer cocked his head again, but this time with a slight grin of respect. "You want my personal opinion?"

Dean scoffed. "Not really."

"Well, if you insist." His mentor feigned resignation and carried on speaking as though deaf to opposition. "I think the real trick to winning the Games is to be the most interesting character of the cast so writers have to keep you in. It makes for good TV to have good actors after all. Me, I was the handsome yet cunning killer character fit for an interesting anti-hero; I had my own little quirks and fake friendships with co-stars, and when the time came I gave them a brilliantly bloody finale. That's all you have to do. Just pick your character type and roll with the punches, break some legs while you're at it. I'll be your first fanboy."

Dean knew he was right about his first intuitions: Lucifer clearly lost whatever sense he might've had a long damn time ago. Regardless, Dean nodded and grunted out a tight 'thanks' to the man so he was happy enough to leave, and to his surprise it worked. Lucifer spent the rest of their half-hour flight curled up on a white furry couch watching some Capitol reality TV crap while Dean ran through everything he could possibly remember from the academy and his dad, pounding every truth in until it hurt and stretched in every way he knew how. He was ready. Years of training led to this moment, this moment when he'd make his mother proud.

Upon the landing of the hovercraft, Dean was promptly blinded-folded and guided down layers and layers below surface in an elevator. Strong Peacekeeper hands served as a constant reminder how utterly confined his new world was, but he forced himself to relax yet again in the face of his deep-seated claustrophobia. _No time for fear when you're in the Hunger Games._ At first, Dean feared that his touchy-feely stylist would be all over him in his last few moments of mental preparation before launch, but as it turned out obsessive Becky actually kept a respectful distance other than an awkward "pat down" to make sure his tribute outfit fit right. But he supposed it could be worse.

The outfit in question was a comfortably loose-fitting white shirt and gray cargo pants with the only other adornments being sturdy military boots and a leather belt. It looked to be good for mobility and had plenty of useful pockets within the pants, but Dean could tell right away that if the Gamemakers wanted a freezing night, they would be useless. Maybe that was just to lure more tributes into the Cornucopia for blankets or something, or possibly on the brighter side the arena was tropical. Or a desert. Somewhere remotely warm in nature. _Ten._ The countdown had begun to get in the tubes. Dean froze for just a moment out of nerves, but Becky offered a supportive butt slap which, despite being a butt slap, did succeed in calming him down enough to step inside.

The seconds ticking down to launch were like a bomb ticking away to detonation, and surely one by one each tribute had filed inside and were shooting upwards through compact ground to the battle zone. _I'm ready. I'm ready._ Dean leaned forward into a predatory athletic stance, clenched his hands into fists and let blinding white light overwhelm his vision as the arena revealed itself.

_Let the Hunger Games begin._

* * *

_A/N: Wow. I think I just broke my word count record for a single chapter, but I really wanted to get all the before-Games stuff out of the way first because that can take forever otherwise. Anyways... wow. Not sure if the other chapters will quite rival this one in length, but there will be blood, sweat, and tears for good measure. Thanks for the read!_


	2. Bloodbath on River Styx

At first, Dean's vision was blinded beneath searing white light painful enough so that he had to use his arm to blot out the glare. He heard tributes' heavy breathing and water lap lazily somewhere nearby, birds chirping in glee and some distant growls of a mutt. When his head finally stopped spinning from the overpowering sun, he dared lower his arm enough to take in beautiful surroundings. That's when the announcer's voice, Dick Roman, crackled to life from an invisible but all-encompassing source.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 63rd Annual Hunger Games begin! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Sixty seconds. That's how long he had to adjust, take in his surroundings, and somehow pull together a quite literally last minute plan of action. The first thing Dean noticed about the arena they'd been thrown into was the fat, slow moving river cutting everything in half: the circle of platforms spread equidistant apart, the contrast of lands stretched wide on either side, and even the Cornucopia itself, golden halves glistening under hot sun. It seemed the only way to cross to the other land was by either wading through murky and very questionable river water or trying your luck on the flimsy wooden bridge connecting the two halves. So Dean was right about the environment being hot, at least for now. He couldn't pick out individual faces surrounding him yet, but the feeling of fear was prominent everywhere. The Countdown was just beginning, like a clock ticking backwards on some very unwitting lives.

59… 58… 57…

The tributes were in perpetual motion. Some were terrified, their eyes darting everywhere to take in those of their various competition looking scared themselves. Others were focused on the large batch of supplies that was the centerpiece of where they all stood, their bodies facing forward and twitching in anticipation. The rest seemed somewhere in between, almost as if trying to figure out some sort of trick to the game that might keep them alive. More strategizing. It was the same Countdown routine as every year, just new faces.

30… 29… 28…

Opposite from where Dean and the rest of his half-circle stood, the arena sloped into gentle rolling hills dotted by exotic flowers and some weeping willows which simply sang of paradise. In the far distance, Dean could make out colossal towers and spires of white, an oasis city walled in. Just off to its side was a sparkling lake clear as crystal. But he could spot a trap miles away thanks to his extensive training, and he knew instantly the land of sweet promises also held countless horrific traps and mutts just waiting to make a kill. Where he stood was the very opposite.

23… 22...

Cracks of fiery concrete decorated a tightly packed forest of charred and gnarled dead trees, swaths of molten lava running in rivulets through crumbling structures as far as the eye could see. Bubbles of hot, thick fire rose one by one from pockets of lava lakes. Dean figured his side - the city ruins overgrown with death and fire - was supposed to resemble Hell, and the other - a flourishing city of light and life - was supposed to be Heaven. Figures that the Gamemakers would put him in Hell first. He'd need to convince the other Careers when the time came to run there, where the danger was evident first, so it'd be easier to hunt down the harder tributes who'd decide to brave it. It would be difficult considering the stubborn nature of the group he had, but he knew his option was smartest.

12… 11… 10…

First though, he had to focus on the Cornucopia again. And - _damn it_ \- the countdown was nearly into single digits and there was still so much more he had to consider. The golden halves were filled to the brim with supplies ranging from swords of unimaginable length, backpacks of the largest size, and even shelter that could last throughout the entire game. Some of the best supplies were on Heaven's side which required him to take the connecting bridge, but he was sure he'd make it. This was it. The anticipated Bloodbath was about to begin. Every competitor was on high-alert, constantly changing position. Hearts were pounding and breath was quickening even among those determined to maintain a strong facade for the cameras.

9… 8… 7…

"I REFUSE TO MURDER FOR THE CAPITOL."

All in one fluid motion, every single head had swung to meet those of Lenore Benson, standing rigid on her platform with brown eyes on fire. She was only a few spots away from Dean on the Hell side, which made it all the more horrific when her guts splattered to coat his face only a second after. Drenched, all he could do was stare in shock at the crater driven deep into scorched earth just in front of her platform where she'd stepped off not a second ago. Not a second ago, Lenore Benson was blown to bits of her own free will. Dean didn't even realize he was shaking until Dick's voice counted 'five' and he snapped himself out of it. He had five seconds. He had five seconds and he wouldn't let anything distract him from the path to his waiting machete, put there just for him.

4…

Everyone else seemed to share the same revelation, because one by one their attentions returned with great effort back to the enormous batch of waiting supplies.

3…

Toes were just hanging off the edge of platforms.

2…

Breaths were held. Eyes wide open.

1…

The gong sounded and twenty-three children rushed forward all at once.

In that moment, all thoughts of Lenore, Lucifer's advice, and even Dad and Sam watching from home were all banished from Dean's mind as it narrowed down into tunnel vision trained on that machete. His machete. It rested gleaming amongst several other blades on Heaven's half and he could tell right away there was no duplicate instrument. Clearly the Gamemakers had wanted him to fight for it, so he would. Dean was never the fastest runner being more strength inclined, but with adrenaline pulsing all the way from his feet to his head, he pumped his arms and legs sprinting straight for the connecting bridge with speed he didn't know he had.

A few others beat him to it, and without bothering to recognize faces, Dean barreled past to land on the already swaying planks of wood over water. He paused in spite of himself at the sight of the clumsily knotted ropes holding it all together, wondering if in the end it would just be easier to wade across rather than suffer a fall beforehand. _No. No time for doubt._ Almost on cue, a cannon of muscle and cloth suddenly crashed into him, taking Dean's breath away as he felt his body crunch into hard-packed dirt. He was pinned by an unseen figure with rough, calloused hands wrapped around his throat and squeezing with the strength of a python.

Letting out a roar of defiance, Dean promptly flipped himself over to meet a furious Uriel Wisdom. _Uriel Wisdom, District 9. Part of the group trying to overthrow the Career pack. _Without hesitation, he followed through with a hard and fast punch to the face, further throwing off his attacker. Dean would've killed the boy then, but he was dangerously unarmed at the moment. Trying not to gasp for breath, he turned and ran across the bridge without hesitation that time and reached the horn of Heaven where most of his allies were already fighting. He reeled to a stop when he laid eyes on the rack of swords and nearly screamed when he saw it. Or rather when he didn't see it.

_The machete, his machete._ Some outer district scum had the nerve to take it? Just then, as if born from a blessing, Dean spotted the distinct gleam of a blade in running motion, paired to some forgettable face desperately trying to escape the fray. _Oh, like hell he is._ Dean grabbed a random sword fit for beheading and pumped like mad for the second time that day to reach his baby. He had the boy within range in seconds, ready to take his deadly swing when the kid suddenly whipped around and dodged his death by a hair. Dean recognized him as Six's Andy Gallagher when their eyes met. With a look of utter terror, the shorter boy swung his stolen weapon at his pursuer, dismayed but not surprised when his blow only caught air.

Dean had been dodging swords since he was still in training wheels. Andy tried making another break for it but only collapsed screaming when Dean's sword cut through his legs in one swift motion. In the next, his head was severed. Expression set into grim lines, Andy's murderer pried his trophy from fingers already stiffening and raced back to the Cornucopia without so much as a glance back. This was what Dean was trained to do. This was all part of the game. By then, each member of the Career pack had made it to Heaven's horn and Dean could already tell with a glance that the Games were going to be starkly different after all because killing wasn't happening. Fighting, however, was.

Sparing a quick scan for the battlegrounds beneath them, Dean spotted poor pregnant Amy with her head bashed in - clearly dead - and District Four's Garth a little ways away sporting a spear to the back. It was a fair assessment to say he was also dead. But apart from a painfully ongoing fight with Ten's Tessa and a gleeful Ruby, the real battle seemed to be taking place between the Twos and Meg against the Second Career pack. Uriel speedily rummaged through the Cornucopia's stash, stuffing all kinds of supplies and weapons inside already overstuffed backpacks while Gwen, Jake, and Gordon guarded his back against the remaining Careers.

Dean could tell the fight was already almost won without his help, but he still felt obligated to play his part. Giving his new machete an experimental swing, Dean plunged into battle with a hard downward swipe meant to slash through Jake's torso, but to his surprise the blow was blocked by the boy's spear lodged precariously between Dean's blade and his own beating heart. However, the strike wasn't completely wasted as Jo took the opening to plunge her axe deep into his chest, leaving Jake barely enough time to suck in a pained breath before he fell dead at the Careers' feet. His allies caught onto their change in luck fast, and after landing a few more defensive blows against their opponents, fled into Hell beyond pursuing. _Damn. _Dean realized he was panting. _They're stronger than they look._

"Not bad, One." Jo smirked, but unlike Ruby's many catlike grins Dean felt hers was sincere. He smiled back with a nod of recognition.

"That was nothing." He cockily swung his blade around for good measure - doing nothing to impress Jo who only laughed and rolled her eyes - until their other allies began to gather around them at the horn's mouth, not exactly sweating but definitely taxed from the whole ordeal. Depending on if the final body count was high enough to appease their audience, they might even get a few minutes to take supply inventory and rest before hunting more tributes. Dean certainly hoped so. Ruby was the last to join them, casually wiping excess blood from her face and neck in annoyance as if the liquid were merely a spilled drink. Meg scoffed at her appearance.

"Glad to see you finally joined the party, One. Would've been nice to have to some help back there." She grumbled.

"Sorry, I was a little preoccupied." Ruby grinned in her coy way. "What's your count?"

Meg brightened immediately. "One. Would've been two if I just had better aim, but whatever. You?"

"One. But there might still be some time left..." Her voice trailed, gaze sweeping over the bloodied abandoned area as if she expected some kid to suddenly pop out of the bushes and beg to be shot. Now it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"Alright, before we do anything does anyone need a medical kit?" He shifted the conversation just as Balthazar slowly raised his hand.

"I might have taken a small stabbing to the shoulder if it's not too much trouble." He let out a choked laugh to play off the pain, but it was obvious his earlier silence had everything to do with the gaping wound still oozing blood through his shirt.

He must've been pissed to get an injury so early on in the Games, and Dean let that small thought make him smile before he started searching their bags for supplies. The medical kit wasn't too hard to find; stuffed neatly into a large hiking pack near the top of the pile and filled with every kind of thing they'd need. Dean could've sworn he'd seen at least three other kits before the gong went off, but it was fair to assume they'd all been taken in the heat of battle. Hell's horn had been purposefully stuffed with second-grade items which excluded any form of medicine. But hopefully they wouldn't need a lot going forward.

Dean jumped back down from the pile to where Ruby and Meg were in close exchange off to the side, leaving Jo sitting alone to clean her weapon while Balthazar was leaned lazily up against the Cornucopia's golden walls. The girls' conversation piqued his interest, but Dean didn't dare press the matter in favor of feigning friendship for just awhile longer. It was still only the bloodbath after all, and if the two Cruella DeVils of the group were already set on scheming against them, then he could very well scheme too. Without much care for his waiting patient, Dean tossed the kit over to where Balthazar sat sunbathing, successfully knocking the knitted fabric square into the boy's skull. He let out a pained grunt in response, and then with no warning a plastic water bottle went flying into Dean's gut.

"You're _welcome_." He practically growled to the still cross Two. Jo was trying not to burst out laughing.

Meg let out a sharp whistle from her and Ruby's plotting circle, successfully calling everyone's attention back to them. "Guard the supplies. Miss Diamond and I are patrolling the area." She announced loudly in that cocky tone of hers. But before anyone could even think of suggesting otherwise, the two left side by side into the heavenly field of willows and rose bushes. Balthazar groaned.

"Well, those two are definitely up to something." Dean raised an eyebrow slightly at his ally's outward suspicion, not out of disagreement, but the fact that usually sharing secrets were reserved for only the closest allies in Games. He and Bath Salt weren't exactly BFFs. At least he didn't think so.

"Definitely, but we can't do anything drastic yet. Waiting it out is our smartest move." Jo advised without looking up.

Balthazar nodded in deep thought. To his aggravation, Dean's mouth ran dry of any further advice or comment, not even sure how to approach his newfound closer relationship with two of his allies. Was he even truly in on it or did the Twos forget about him entirely? Luckily, he was saved from having to say anything as Balthazar turned directly towards him next, offering a bandage and sewing kit.

"So, Dean. They teach you how stitch up a fellow soldier in One?" He smirked. Dean reeled back his fake confidence in an instant, rolling his eyes as he made his way over to where the pair sat in companionship.

"Come on, that's preschool." He snatched up the offered supplies in a heartbeat and went to work on his ally's shoulder, the only sounds passing between the three being Balthazar's occasional grimace and Dean's muttered apologies. He was trying to be as gently rough as he could be without hurting the guy under Jo's watchful gaze. Their closer alliance was vital to his survival, he knew, but the deep-seated hatred he'd had for their district since childhood still ran strong. Maybe his father did rub off on him after all.

A few minutes later, Dean's slightly haphazard stitches were nearly completed, Jo was comfortable enough to leave them alone to search Hell's Cornucopia, and Balthazar looked ready to try falling back to sleep again. That was when the cannons started. Dean jumped in spite of himself when the first one sounded, earning a loud cry of pain and a small river of blood from Balthazar. He winced in apology looking at the boy's newly formed wound, not even realizing he was missing the body count in trying to fix his mistake. The cannons ended soon after without him anyways and he figured he'd just have to ask for the number. His dad would be disappointed.

"Seven!" Dean quickly tied off the rest of his string and turned to face Meg, marching back to their base alone and blood splattered. Her earlier grin of cocky challenge was replaced with one of wariness, and Dean could only wonder what that meant.

"Seven, huh? Not high enough. The Gamemakers'll want us hunting for sure." Balthazar sighed, quirking a brow suddenly at their ally's odd behavior and further proving Dean's suspicions to be correct. "And where might your 'Miss Diamond' be? Still out searching?"

Meg shrugged non-confirming. "You could say that." She sat off to the side and started rummaging through a backpack in silence. They caught the hint, choosing not to speak again until Jo returned bearing only a small backpack, empty water bottles, and knives. She sighed in frustration before collapsing into her earlier resting spot, scattering her meager findings.

"Apparently Hell has the same budget as District Twelve." She joked, earning small laughter from each of her gathered allies. "So, where's Ruby? We should be leaving to hunt soon."

"Out." Meg bit back. Jo frowned, but before she could question her further another cannon shook the air with its grim resonance.

Meg sighed at their artificial sky. "Make that eight." She muttered.

_Eight._ It was an improvement, but still relatively low for a bloodbath. Still, Dean didn't volunteer for the Hunger Games to sit around and be pampered - he knew what lay ahead for him. He'd seen the hunt unfold far too many times before. When Ruby finally returned, her cheeks were flushed a bright pink and she bore a wide, satisfied grin that resembled one fattened from a particularly pleasurable meal. Her own blood splatter design was far more prominent than Meg's and her whole form spoke of messy dishevelment; even the delicate flower braids carefully crafted by her stylist had gotten roughed up to point of falling out. Even though she tried to hide it, Dean noticed Meg's scowl of disgust at her supposed "partner in crime's" arrival. Obviously some kind of rift had taken place between them on their trip, maybe a rift they could use.

Jo rose to her feet and sighed, giving her axe a small swing with the motion. "Are we ready then?"

"Definitely." Ruby's grin widened evermore and with no further comment, she led the way back into Heaven's silver forest.

"Hilarious. We're going into Hell." Meg spat, looking ready to drag the girl there herself.

Balthazar coughed and raised his good arm again. "I kind of agree with the angry one. As I recall, those nasty anti-Careers ran that way, so it's only logical we take them out first."

Ruby actually laughed in response. "Do you honestly think that those outer district gang members are a threat? Most of our targets fled for the obvious choice, so that's where we need to be." She started walking away again which only invited more protest.

"Regardless of their actual strength, even you can't deny that they stand for something that needs to die." Jo pitched in next, arms folded and unwilling to bend. Ruby sent her a cold glare in response. One more strike and she was out. Dean took it upon himself.

"Ruby, they're all going to be hunted down eventually. It just makes sense to tackle the big game first." Strike three, she was out.

"Fine, looks you all want to jump into Hellfire. That's just _great_." She was trying to laugh it off, downplay her loss. "But I'm leading this thing."

Everyone was all too ready to protest that action as well, but even Dean knew it was smarter to quit while they were ahead. The Career alliance, in this stage at least, was still absolutely crucial and the moment he forgot that would be the moment his allies' weapons were turned on him. After gathering as many supplies and food as they could stuff in their backpacks, the group set off in silence towards dark mountains and dead woodland. Normally, the pack would take a vote on who hunts and who stays behind to guard the Cornucopia, but they'd already decided back at the Tribute Center that they'd be a far more deadly force working as one. Besides, with what supplies they had on them just in backpacks, they could each last throughout the entire game. The rest of the supplies - an assortment of small knives, excess empty bottles, sheets of plastic and any food that wouldn't fit - they were all dumped into dark green river water, hopefully never to be seen again.

It probably shouldn't have come as such a shock, but Hell was hot. Unbelievably hot. Dean's stark white shirt from just that morning had soaked into an ugly sweat-grey by the time the sun had crawled halfway across the sky, and by afternoon the whole group was drenched and trembling from heat exhaustion. Still, they travelled without pause or conversation, not even a sarcastic comment from Ruby to break their dreadful silence. But Dean had a feeling that the weakening heat they all felt eating at their skin had less to do with sunlight and more to do with the small trickles of lava running through cracks everywhere and the simmering fires that often sprung up at random hoping to catch someone's shirt. Luckily, no one's shirt had caught on fire yet, but they all experienced its smoke and heat coming off in waves.

By evening, not one remote sign of another tribute was spotted and it wasn't hard to guess why. Ruby's hanging "I told you so" didn't even have to be said. They all felt it burning around them. For a few daunting moments, Dean was certain that Ruby and his other allies would refuse to stop until they at least found _one_, but finally after the sky had been dark for an hour, Balthazar collapsed in a heap against a crumbling stone wall scorched black. Jo was the first to stop and stare, quickly drawing everyone's attentions to her panting district partner stretched out on the ground in silence. After a few moments of no one moving, he rolled onto his side and lazily unpacked a sleeping bag to use as a pillow, probably to avoid more painful heat waves. They continued to stare with eyes glazed over until Meg spat out a tired "fuck it" and settled down beside him.

Their own indecisiveness gave way soon after, and without a single word or agreement uttered between them, the legendary alliance collapsed around each other into blissful subconscious. _Not one single tribute. Not one. Dad is definitely disappointed._ That was Dean's last thought before he lost his battle against dreamless sleep.

...

_"Please rise and stand for the pledge of __allegiance." Mumbled conversation and sighs and chairs squeaking against tile floor._

_Oh Horn of Plenty. __Oh Horn of Plenty for us all! __And when you raise the cry, the brave shall heed -_

A sharp feminine scream pierced through Dean's wall of half-aware slumber, causing him to clumsily stand and reach for his machete, surprisingly still clutched in his hand with a death grip. He blinked and his eyes met darkness, darkness just barely challenged by an electric blue glow falling from above. Lifting his head, Dean recognized Samandriel's too kind face staring back almost accusingly from where his death card hung in projection. _Death card. The death toll. The anthem wasn't a dream. _And then, surprisingly, District Eight's dead boy brought on a new strange thought. _He was Castiel's ally..._

"What the hell is this?"

"Does it matter? It's obviously deadly and it's everywhere so -,"

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit..."

"She got everything! It's all useless!"

The same female scream rang out again but this time so much closer. Its pain was mixed with a certain howling rage unfamiliar to any of the pack's, closer and closer it sounded until its owner burst into view, being dragged kicking and screaming by a similarly enraged Balthazar. The anthem was still blaring all around them, its soft blue glow still hanging, but still there was no light to recognize any of Dean's company immediately other than by shadowy outline. One of his neighbors rushed to help hold down her ally's violent captive and yet another burst out from where they first appeared, obviously having joined him in the chase.

Firelight flickered suddenly, illuminating Jo's alert but rattled face from where she brought it to life. The light shifted to rest on the scene's bloody center just as the anthem quieted, blow glow extinguished. Balthazar's victim was writhing madly despite his strong arms pinning hers to the rocky ground beneath them without mercy, Meg trying to hold down her legs with great struggle. Ruby was on the girl in an instant with a punch right to her throat serving to silence her screams. Almost subconsciously, Dean and Jo exchanged a worried glance before approaching their fellow Careers.

"Alright, slum bitch. What did you put in the water?" Ruby growled, knives ready for slicing.

The girl spit in her face. "Go to Hell." She croaked out despite the damage Ruby had inflicted on her vocal chords.

The knife slashed straight through both the girl's eyes, and if Ruby had allowed her to scream without another rough hand clamped down on her throat, it surely would've shattered Dean's eardrum. He grimaced, allowing himself for the first time to get a good look at Ruby's unfortunate victim. _District Eight, Pamela Barnes. Avid hater of the Capitol, loner, spent much of her training days with survival skills and poisons._ Suddenly it all clicked in his head. District Eight's Pamela Barnes had caught the Careers passed out and used the opportunity to poison their water supply. Why she didn't kill them right off the bat, he didn't know. Maybe she just didn't have the guts. Either way, the only reason they were still alive at all was because the Capitol chose that moment to advertise the death toll.

Dean went pale suddenly at the implications of what could've been otherwise. They committed the most fatal flaw in the book - falling asleep without a guard - and would've all died pathetically without the Gamemakers' convenient intervention. He could just imagine his dad screaming at the TV for him to wake up and stop being a weak idiot, stop dishonoring the Winchester name. He must've been so disappointed. And, worst of all, the Career pack likely had no drinkable water left to speak of. The Cornucopia was picked clean, they couldn't go back there. They could chance the arena-splitting river, but its muddy green texture wasn't exactly enticing. Did they even have a purifier on them?

Pam let out another sharp muffled scream and Dean dared glance back to see Ruby cutting into her stomach with a cold practiced hand. He was about to step forward and intervene - _why? The reason was lost on him_ \- but Meg of all people was the one to grab Ruby's knife before it found another target.

"She's a bloody pulp now, Ruby. We need to sleep." She reasoned. But Ruby, to everyone's surprise, actually conceded and lowered her weapon in favor of logic. Dean guessed even raging psychopaths could get exhausted under the right circumstances.

"I still need a kill. Hand me the knife." Balthazar demanded. Ruby glared her usual glare as would be expected, but handed it over without protest.

"You won't win this year." Pamela ground her teeth against searing pain. "The Capitol's trained hunting dogs can't murder without wa-,"

The rest of her words were drowned under a sickening red gurgle as Balthazar's blade tore across her neck in a neat line, defeating any last revolutionary words she might've had to say. A cannon fired, but her body twitched painfully for a few more horrible seconds until it finally slumped lamely in the arms of Pam's killer. Against all better judgement, Dean shuddered at the sight. He'd been well-conditioned to handle seeing death and murder played out live on the big screen, but experiencing it up close was an another world in itself. And, for some odd reason, Dean never felt closer to his little brother than in that moment, despite being flown untold distances apart. He knew what taking another life and watching it fade out of existence really meant, and it was terrifying.

Jo sighed and punched a crumbling wall in unexpected fury. "That slum bitch was right. We're dead meat without water."

"Are you sure she got everything?" Dean finally spoke with barely concealed worry.

She laughed harshly. "Everything. Fucking everything."

"But... we have a purifier, right?" He pressed. "We can always go back to the river or to Heaven's lake -,"

"Even if we do, that's an entire's day trek _backwards_ and each of us besides Ruby has only had one kill - one of which was practically handed to us - and that's not even mentioning the fact that we barely survived the heat _with_ water." Jo was seething.

"We could always drink it." Meg's weak joke was met with four unfazed glares. She only shrugged in response. "Well, what do you want me to say? We screwed up, got corned. Shit happens and now our only option is to hike back up to square one, so let's just suck it up and chance the trip. In the meantime, we need sleep. Preferably with a guard this time."

Ruby groaned and cracked her neck. "Whatever, I'll do it. Did _anyone_ catch the death recaps?"

Jo cast her still fuming gaze into her torchlight. "I think I missed the first two or three, but I definitely saw the Nine girl, the Ten girl, both the Elevens, and Twelve's girl. And we already know there are nine dead in total including..." She frowned at Pamela's corpse. "Nameless over here."

"Pamela Barnes from District Eight." Dean corrected, much to everyone's surprise. "I also saw her partner in the recaps, Samandriel Pike. So that means both Eleven and Eight are out of the running already. The only ones left unaccounted for are likely Four's Garth and Six's Andy. I saw them both die at the Bloodbath."

"Did you... memorize all the tributes?" Balthazar looked both awed and a little unsettled at the same time. Dean couldn't help his smug grin in response. He'd been waiting awhile to unveil his own hidden talent.

"It really wasn't that hard. Just a little trick I picked up at Hunger High." He grinned once more and led his allies to another scorched wall for sleeping so the hovercrafts could take Pamela, successfully managing to keep up the appearance of nonchalance as he did so.

If that didn't sponsor them at least one bottle, he wasn't sure what else would do it. From him, anyways. Maybe one of others also had a few tricks to wow their audience with. In the meantime, they all had one hell of a day to plow through tomorrow, so that night Dean was taking full advantage of his energy reserve. He certainly didn't think of his dad cursing his name at home, or Sam watching the TV with bloodshot eyes and no one to help him sleep, he didn't think of Amy Pond or her unborn child, didn't think of the Capitol beauticians sewing Andy's head back on or Pamela's slashed eyes through, and he definitely didn't think of the beautiful blue-eyed Castiel Novak lying alone somewhere, mourning the loss of his friend and maybe missing his watching family. Dean didn't think at all.

* * *

**A/N: Day 1 of the Hunger Games is officially over. I'm so sorry if one of your favorites was killed in the bloodbath or otherwise off-camera, but some had to go regardless of how much I liked them (tears for Garth and Samandriel). But anyways, please review and tell me what you thought! Were you shocked by any of the tributes that ended up dead or alive? Have any really early Victor predictions or comments? _Review_ **

**The odds are never in our favor,**

**-StripedFuzzySocks-**


	3. Hounds of Hell

It was the soft crackling of fire which caused Dean, reluctantly, to open his eyes to a new day. Day two now.

Drowsily, he groaned and forced himself to rise from an awkward sleeping position lodged between some cooling lava rocks and a crumbling stone wall. According to their possibly reliable sky, it was just past dawn and everyone else was still asleep. Everyone, that was, except for him and Jo. He gazed blearily in the direction of the crackling fire which woke him to see her slim blonde figure hunched over one of Hell's many infernos, roasting a package of something in silent concentration. He didn't stare for long before her green eyes snapped over to meet his on instinct, a tired smile lightening her features in response. He sent her a small grin back before walking over to meet her, careful not to wake any of their more crazed company in doing so.

They sat next to each other for a few minutes, just watching the package of what looked to be a rice dinner burn slowly over the concentrated heat, not a word spoken but not entirely awkward either. There was some kind of naturalness to simply being in the other's presence that Dean found comforting in its own way. A thought crossed his mind suddenly that that would be the moment his father would've lost it and killed the girl in cold blood. But he wasn't his father and this Hunger Games wasn't his own revenge quest. With what Sam had done to the Twos of his game... you'd think that was enough. Dean kept telling himself that.

"That was clever, what you did with memorizing all the tributes. I'm surprised that alone didn't lure in any sponsor gifts. I would've sponsored that." Jo's unexpected compliment came so off-handedly that Dean had to take a moment to register its full meaning.

"Thanks." The response was gruff and pathetic, but Jo seemed to take it anyway. A few more moments passed before Dean found his voice again.

"Maybe they're not sending water because we're close to it somehow and the Gamemakers are just waiting for us to find it." His suggestion sounded idiotic in afterthought and he wanted to punch himself for even bringing it up. Sure, the _lava wasteland_ had water.

But Jo had a smile on her face. "Well, with artificial arenas I guess you never know." She seemed to be holding back laughter.

"Although, to be honest I figured your Victor brother could have at least managed to pull a few strings for you by now, mentor or not. He's in the Capitol, right?" She inquired. Dean's throat went tight. _Don't show it, don't crack._

"No. I, uh... I told him to sit this one out, stay in the District. Our dad and Bobby probably don't want to watch alone." Dean failed to successfully hide the note of sadness in his voice, but thankfully Jo didn't keep prodding. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully and then another smile graced her expression.

"I get it. My mom's an instructor at my..." _Local Murder Academy. _"High school, and she's helped me a lot to become the person I am today." Jo hesitated suddenly, as if debating whether or not to continue. The former won out. "My father also fell honorably in the Games, like your mother. I sometimes imagine he'd be proud."

Dean, against his better judgement, exchanged a look of honest appreciation with his ally for the first time. Finally, he'd met someone who understood living under a martyr. His whole life he'd been told to find justice, but that task was becoming increasingly harder as it now meant the definite death of at least one of them. Maybe they'd even become martyrs themselves. Dean's private loathing for the vicious cycle led him to halt their short conversation, allowing his father's words of vice to soak in his head once more until the rest of their pack awakened. _You make those fuckers from District Two suffer, you hear me? _Dean knew what he had to do, regardless of his own instinct fighting every word. _I'm trying, dad. I'm really trying._

Balthazar woke up first and shook the scheming duo awake to a rice breakfast fully cooked. They only allowed themselves a few minutes of rest and food before their backwards journey began through painfully familiar structures of rocky lands bathed in flames. Dean, meanwhile, was prepared to harden himself to anything to stay alive throughout the waiting horrors, no matter who or what tried to stand in his way. That was what the Capitol wanted after all, what he needed. He'd made a promise to Sammy, a promise that he fully intended to keep. Dean was not coming home in a box.

Yesterday, the Careers managed to keep their energies up to full until at least noon, but that day after only a few hours, sweat was beading from every conceivable skin surface. A few times, the group tried to pick up their pace so they could arrive faster but each attempt was eventually slowed to a pathetic shuffling. Dean found that as long as he didn't think about the growing pain in his legs or feet, or his skin burning him alive as they trudged on, he could almost forget it was happening. Instead, he let his mind wander absently at his surroundings and travel companions one by one, even making a game out of it.

Every so often, Meg would grab her shirt and use it as a sweat band for her forehead and armpits, grimacing in clear disgust at her state of ruggedness but never daring to complain aloud. Dean guessed she didn't want to appear weak in front of her similarly suffering allies, a notion he actually agreed with as he himself was going on the same mindset. Balthazar stumbled every now and then to the concern of Jo and no one else, but he picked up his speed just enough to trail at the group's rear, pretending to keep a sharp lookout for approaching danger. Or maybe he really was trying to be the scout and Dean was a harsh judge, not like he truly cared.

No matter what sort of friendship he'd managed to feign with the guy, his true feelings about him were still age old rivalry and general irritation. Dean could easily let himself lag to the back as well if he wanted to, but unlike Two's boy he had something called inner strength which he planned on exercising as much as possible. He knew he'd let his father down so much already and it was only the second day; he did not plan on screwing up this game any further.

Jo seemed to be faring the worst out of all of them, not like she'd ever admit it. But only judging from a casual glance, Dean saw it was obvious how badly her body was handling the conditions they continued to push through. Her long blonde hair left alone by her stylist had grown stringy with sweat beading down from her scalp and tangling at the ends. Sweat was pouring everywhere, every possible place it could to the point where if Dean didn't know any better he'd thought she just jumped into a pool. _No, no. No, not a pool. Anything but a pool._ But it was already too late. Dean's imagination vividly conjured the sweet sensation of jumping in, clothes and all, into a crystal clear swimming pool and feeling the cool liquid rush over him all at once.

Coldness seeping without hesitation over his every surface, surrounding him, engulfing him, dripping icy temperature all over his body and even into his mouth as Dean began drinking it. Oh God, it felt like drinking Heaven and feeling its embrace all at once, it... it wasn't real. Dean roughly snapped his attention back to the present. The present: burning among zombies in hyper-realistic Hell. He could easily have started crying at that point. Luckily or unluckily, Dean doubted he had any body fluids left for that. He knew he had to stay alert, stay in the moment. He couldn't let himself drift away so fast like that again if he wanted to stay alive.

Painfully, he wrenched his attentions back to the surroundings he was currently stuck with. Meg: disgusted, upset, but putting on a brave face for the cameras. Balthazar: weak, stumbling, giving in to his need to slow down. Jo: possibly the weakest of all and just barely held together by her extensive training back in her District. Ruby... Dean craned his neck back to the front where Ruby was still leading their expedition through Hellfire, her pace steady and her sweat-grey back stiff as a soldier in the military. His resting frown deepened. She seemed to be having little trouble at all with their journey. In fact, she might've even been _sprightly_.

"Alright, it's noon. We need to eat." Balthazar interrupted Dean's growing suspicions over his partner, forcing him to look back again to where the boy was already slowing to a stop. Unsurprisingly, Jo was first to follow suit with Dean and Meg not far behind. Privately, he would've liked to show a little more resistance to stopping in favor of showing strength, but at that point Dean's body was ready to collapse in on itself with or without his consent. Ruby merely turned around and shrugged as though she couldn't care less whether they kept on going and joined her allies where they already sat rummaging like starving wolves through their packs.

At first, no one made a sound besides tearing open packages and chewing in deep bliss as if they were consuming some rich gourmet straight from the kitchens of the Capitol, as opposed to the bland meat strips and crackers designed for basic defense against starvation and little more. Dean considered using the moment to warn his allies about eating too much of the crackers without proper hydration, but thought better of it when he realized talking would mean he'd have to stop chewing. That was something he knew he couldn't bring himself to do just yet. Far sooner than any of them liked, their allowed food packs for lunch had run out, leaving behind dazed tributes to delay having to stand and walk again. Ruby, of course, was the first to rise, casually stretching out her muscles as if they needed more of a workout and smiled brightly at her exhausted crew members.

"So, are we done here?" She asked with false innocence. Dean resisted the urge to openly groan and instead refused to move until everyone else did. _Yeah, that sounds like a good plan._

"Cut the crap, Ruby." Jo's tone was vicious, startling those around her into listening. "We all know you're doing something to keep yourself alive while the rest of us suffer, so how about telling us what that is?"

For a second, Ruby just stared blankly back into Jo's accusing glare as if in a state of mild shock. Although the action was subtle, Dean noticed Balthazar hold a steady grip onto his previously forgotten sword, blue gaze held steady on the girls' every movements. Meg refused to look up from where she still packed her bag, but she sat frozen with her muscles tensed, ready to move at a moment's notice. Dean himself took the hint and rose a little in anticipation of what might happen, feeling his fingers wrap subconsciously around his precious machete. _Maybe nothing will happen..._ it _was_ clear that Jo was still quite delirious from the trek through hell and might just be acting hostile out of pent up aggression, but there was a certain fire to her stance that made Dean want to take everything she said seriously. And right then, she looked seriously ready to murder his district partner.

The moment of tension was broken without warning by Ruby bursting into laughter. "What, like a secret energy drink I pulled out of my ass? If you all are supposedly suffering in this environment, then that's on you. Some of us actually _prepared_ before volunteering."

Warily, Dean fixed his green gaze on Jo's - unwavering despite her ally's taunting - but still he tightened his grip just in case a side needed to be taken. _Jo._ He was surprised to hear himself think. _I'll have to side with Jo._ It didn't matter that she was from District Two, or that Ruby's fighting spirit was harsher and just the kind of ruthless he'd want by his side; Dean knew deep down he had only one real option here. He'd choose the girl he _needed_ by his side, the one he actually trusted for some unknown reason. Sparing another quick glance to observe his allies, Dean found that both Meg and Balthazar had reached the same conclusion as their expressions had hardened with resolve. For who... he had no idea.

"If you prepared, then you know that no normal human can withstand these temperatures and be as well off as you are. Not without water or medicine at least." Jo was standing now, moving threateningly closer to her adversary as she spoke. "So my question is which. Is it water or medicine you're hiding from us?"

"Jo, this is ridiculous." Ruby was still laughing, though now it seemed more forced. "None of you actually believe this, right?" Her tone rose threateningly as she turned to face her allies.

"How would I even get access to those things in the first place? All of you witnessed the cornucopia distribution; what little supplies Eight's girl had we all shared, and I've been stuck with _all of you_ ever since the gong went off. Didn't get any sponsor gifts." Meg's eyebrows crinkled. Balthazar's reaction was a closed book.

"How can we be sure about that?" Jo barreled on. "Maybe your mentor snuck you one while we were sleeping sometime and you decided not to share."

"Alright, this is getting pathetic. Even for you." Ruby shot back harshly.

"Fine, then why don't you prove how pathetic I am?" Barbed sarcasm dripped off her every word. "Unpack your bag and cargo pockets."

_"You're kidding me."_ Ruby's laughter was quickly getting desperate but still no one jumped to her defense. Not even Meg.

"Well, I think it's a reasonable enough request." Balthazar proposed carefully. "Do it."

Ruby's glare could have carved ice, but it was clear at that point the Career's glorified strongest member was backed into a corner. Wordlessly, Dean shifted to stand alongside the others in opposition, no longer afraid of consequence now that it was clear where everyone stood. Admittedly, a small part of him was still scared of being wrong, even if the chance was slim. Maybe the day's heat was just messing with all their brains again and they faced widespread embarrassment in the Capitol, or maybe Ruby really was lying as he suspected and they had some strength yet. No, he had to believe that. Jo wouldn't make such an accusation if she wasn't sure.

A few more moments passed in silence before Jo finally snapped and grabbed Ruby's arm, twisting it viciously before shoving her caught off guard right into Balthazar's improvised chokehold from behind. Desperately, she felt for her weapons but was stopped abruptly by her captor's intensified grip on her throat, jerking her body into stillness just long enough to press a sword gently but threatening against her neck. For a second, Meg looked like she wanted to intervene but clearly thought better of it as Jo moved against her own exhaustion to start roughly searching the contents of her ally's pockets. Her fingers stopped and closed around a bulkier one, yanking out a steel container as Ruby feebly tried kicking her away one last time.

"That doesn't prove anything. We _all_ kept our bottles." Her voice rasped under pressure.

Ignoring her, Jo twisted the cap and downed sweet clear liquid. Dean's mouth opened of its own accord at the sight of it, dry and needy, but his own desperation was quickly replaced with rage as his gaze moved to take in that of his district partner, whose eyes now focused right on him in a silent call for help. _Help._ Now that was hilarious. Kicking them to the side all this time, acting so superior expecting some kind of one-sided loyalty when he knew - had the roles reversed - she would have laughed in his face. So that was just what he did. Laughed as Meg finally lost it and lunged at Ruby's trapped body like something feral, leaving a large but shallow slash square across her former ally's face, cracking open the once beautiful portrait. Dean could already tell a scar like that left a permanent mark, not that she'd be alive to agonize over such a thing.

Maybe the Capitol would do their favorite student one last favor and stitch her corpse up nice and neat afterwards, but Ruby - breathing, fighting Ruby - would die wearing every laceration. That's when she allowed herself to truly scream for the first time since Dean met her, but the jarring sound was lost beneath a sudden cacophony of howls shaking the air around them. Dean hastily turned to meet the source of whatever fresh horror preyed upon them now, but to his unnerving realization, the disembodied growls held no appearance. Frantically, he looked to the others to make sure they were hearing it too, and to his relief their matched expressions told the same story. But, still, the hound's terrifying barks were empty. _It could be a trick of the speakers-_

When Meg's knife came down again, the blow sliced open Balthazar's forearm - once held tight against Ruby's throat, it now flinched back with a pained hiss - under Ruby's newfound grip on her wrist. From there, she moved like lightning to the slow-moving horror of those surrounding. With an aggression that could only come from the first deep cut of betrayal, Ruby thrust Meg's shorter frame into the source of the howls without precision, watching with surprised fascination when her body shredded before them. It thrashed madly in terror, bleeding a river of red while chunks of innards disappeared inexplicably to carve up something unrecognizable. But _the sounds._ The _sounds_ Meg let out as the invisible beasts tore into her would grow to haunt Dean's memory, transfixing him for the moment in shock. As much as he willed himself to look away - hell, to _run -_ the almost unrealistic horror of it all halted him.

It was the firing cannon which freed him, finally, to the selfish danger of the present, and this time there was nothing stopping him from rushing to save himself; enemies and allies be damned. There was a sort of blind rush to it, a rush he hadn't felt since the Bloodbath but burned aggressively in his lungs in a welcoming way. It awakened his spirit, screamed at him to collapse and run and surrender and fight all at the same time as though in a dream soaked with the sting of liquor... Saturday nights when trainers left the academy for a night on the town, slackers raided their liquor cabinets and for a short while the pain was forgotten... Dean always had the most fucked up dreams. _Stay sharp, stay sharp._

His body screamed at him louder, but the faceless mutts' howling reigned victorious over any exhaustion. Some other screams farther back. Dean couldn't tell who; he couldn't afford to bother turning. No cannon fired. His feet picked up, each stride pounding with fearful ferocity on the scorched earth littered by artificial ruins; Dean felt himself come so close to tripping over jagged rubble numerous times, nearly giving himself a heart attack every near-collapse. He wouldn't be able to outrun these creatures for much longer, that he knew. They were stronger, faster, engineered for killing... no, so was he. If he could just manage to hold out long enough to climb that one bombed out hell tower he could figure out a plan from there.

It was dangerously close to the Cornucopia, and by extension Heaven's open land, but he was sure he could make it. He would. The stained white concrete was already fast approaching in his vision, winding up above the haphazard tree line in an enticing whisper pushing him to _run - _run with his last breath of life. He could make it, he could make it. It was right as Dean's hands hit concrete when he witnessed his own calf burst open, and for a hot second before the searing pain of a hundred rows of canines chomping down kicked in, he could've imagined he resembled a pomegranate.

Then the pain came; erupted behind his eyelids, twitching and flashing like a camera stuck on shudder. His body convulsed against his will, thrashing on solid ground which only served to maximize what torture the hellhounds wasted no time inflicting. Dean's heart was pumping wildly inside his chest, threatening to burst outside its cage at any given moment along with any other organs the beasts cared to take. In a sickening realization, he tasted the salty tang of his own blood spraying like a faucet in his mouth, stretched wide open in some special agony only known to the dying. The sound shattered beneath predatory howls closing in on all sides, claustrophobia heard but not seen.

_What a... fucking... pathetic way to go..._

_And here I thought I'd actually make it... at the very least get murdered decently..._

_Sam..._

Dean's ears gave out with a bang. One fantastic release of sound, and then deafening silence. No more teeth tore into him now, that or he finally lost all feeling. Was that how it was? _Lose one sense at a time, drift away..._ Dean couldn't complain as long as it happened fast. _Exhale, eyes roll back into sightlessness, red insides ooze into red outsides... Dean let go._ But he was not alone. His pale, drained neck failed to register two smooth fingers press gently onto its skin, waiting in apprehension for a sign of life. Amazingly, it was found. The fingers quickly retracted themselves just as soon as they'd settled, for their host now faced a difficult decision. One that would soon determine Dean's life or his death.

But Castiel Novak had to be honest with himself for once. There was simply no way he could bring himself to let this boy die in front of him - this monster, this child-murdering psychopath on a ridiculous quest to outshine his equally insane younger brother, this _human being_ \- and consciously live with that decision. Sighing, the angelic boy resigned to his task.

* * *

_A/N: And just when you thought I'd never update! Expect future chapters to come out even more sporadically. It probably would have come sooner had I had some more reviewer incentive... but alas..._

_Okay, for real though. Y'all better leave me some actual reviews this time around to get my motivation going or I can't promise this'll update sooner than later. That matter aside, I really do appreciate all of you taking the time to read this as I also enjoy writing it._

_\- Until Next Time -_


	4. Fresh Pair of Eyes

_Warnings: homophobic slurs/bullying in the beginningish parts, then of course the usual violence/gore and language (just assume it's there from here on out)_

* * *

Dean floated in languid motion. Rolling waves rocked him back and forth, forth and back; the cradle of nature. Stray droplets trickled down his face, bringing his memory back to the gentle springtime rainfall that would arrived whenever the academy's students would camp out on a mountainside to bear arena-like conditions. _The Spring Trek._

No tents, no cellphones, no maps or heated blankets. "Arena-like conditions" were defined as strictly necessary goods needed to get from Point A to Point B. In theory, the trek was meant to be a rigorous challenge painstaking to accomplish, but for those on Dean's level it was more a social event than anything. Dean had his first kiss on the peak of Timpanogos: Robin, on a dare. No one could have guessed that it was his first, of course. He'd always been such an outgoing flirt all his life people just assumed he'd gotten around by then. Dean didn't have the courage - nor the desire - to tell them they were wrong, mostly because the image he'd attained as a result made other guys like him more right off the bat, skipping the awkward introductions.

Besides, Dean didn't mind letting people believe what they wanted as long as it continued to make his social life easier; after all, it wasn't like he was _lying_ to them. He really did enjoy making cute girls fluster and giggle when he dished out compliments left and right in the hallways: _that new hairstyle is really working for you, you keep that beautiful smile, if anyone can beat this semester it's you_. The truth was, he reveled in the power to make people smile out of nowhere, to just lift someone's day up a little bit with an appreciative word or two.

Back when he was small and Mary was still alive, he'd always give the cute boys in his class the same treatment but had to stop when bigger kids starting pushing him around and calling him a 'faggot'. One day when Dean came home with a broken bloody nose from a particularly bad day, he finally had to tell his parents the whole story, which made him even more upset because he hated tattletales more than anything. He'd truly believed until then that he could talk the bullies down by simply explaining that he was only trying to be nice and didn't understand why complimenting boys was any different than complimenting girls. His mother and father sat him down on their apartment's couch and explained to him in very soft voices (so as not to carry sound through thin neighbor walls) why it was incorrect to call boys pretty.

"Boys," as Mary put it with a pained expression, "like to be called different kinds of compliments. You can call them funny, cool, or tough and when you want to tell them how much you like them you can just say they're great... u-um, _friends_." She bit her lip.

"Yes, _friends_." John agreed. "So if you really want to make everyone happy you stick with those words, alright? That way, when you see those bullies again you can tell them that they were wrong about you and they'll leave you alone. Guarantee it."

Dean, in his naivety, still thought it was stupid why he had to go through all this trouble over a few silly words since they never actually explained the problem, but he took his parents' advice nonetheless and sure enough the bullying stopped. It wouldn't be until years later when he was sitting around his circle of freshman tributes-to-be, laughing over their embarrassing childhood stories, when he found out what that ugly word meant along with all its implications. More than one of the guys had remembered _"Dean Gaychester playing the field"_ way back when and _"Holy Hell was that crazy! We had no any idea you were actually faking us out that whole time so you could imagine our surprise when we found him making googly eyes at Robin one day... best fake-out ever."_

_Robin blushed at the mention of her name, smiling sheepishly down to the mountain soil instead of meeting Dean's teasing green __eyes which hid the revelation unfolding behind them. So that was what the bullies had meant when they'd given him hell. _They thought I was trying to _flirt_ with them._ And... and maybe he was, maybe that upset them because the gay stigma still running strong in District One had ruined any chances of those hoping to break from the confines of what was deemed 'acceptable' in regards to sexuality. Dean realized then just how lucky he was to escape that stigma as smoothly as he could when he had the chance._

_It made him a little scared, actually, thinking about how different his life could have turned out had his parents not intervened. Sure, he would've been more confident in showing his true self without constantly having to put on a front that felt like spewing garbage half the time, but at what cost? Transparent people didn't get far in the political minefield that was District One, the breeding ground for future governors and business leaders who thrived off of fabricated fronts like the one Dean chose to bear each day. He would have had to adjust to the concealed prejudice that he himself laughed off in this moment with his peers. So which was really worse?_

_"But now look at him! Those lady-killer eyes ain't fooling nobody now!" __Brady cackled as he took another long swig of his stolen beer._

_"In fact... no I needta _see_ this." He slurred and belched disgustingly before finishing off his half-baked idea. "Gaychester, I DARE you, I double dare you to kiss Robin right now or you're the fag we all thought!"_

_His equally smashed company whooped and hollered in agreement to the outrageous dare, causing Robin to blush even more furiously that time, but look up in... curiosity? Her own drunk friends were not-so-subtly shoving her closer to Dean's spot embedded in wildflowers, squealing anticipation for the promised kiss. Their eyes meet once more when they were as close as could be - loud 15-year-olds chanting 'DO IT' in the background - and Dean took the opportunity to whisper, "Is this really okay with you?", a nervous question met with enthusiastic nodding. He guessed it was her first kiss too, which calmed him down a little seeing as his secretly novice self would have no other expectation of skill level to live up to._

_He didn't realize he was still frozen in the moment until Brady got impatient and started chanting 'FAG' instead, Robin squirming uncomfortably in front of him with nothing going on. Finally tipped over the edge, Dean leaned forward without warning and ungracefully crashed his rough, chapped lips into her smooth glossed ones under a deafening applause. He didn't exactly know how it felt - or how it was supposed to feel - but he was pretty sure he did something wrong. They were just sitting there, lips touching but unmoving, while massive waves of regret finally overtook Dean's consciousness for falling into the whole setup. He'd wanted his first kiss to be someone special; some big magical experience that was supposed to mark the climax to some big relationship._

_But instead, there he was pressed up against a foreign face while drunk people he'd wanted to impress took pictures. Just like that, the moment was gone. His first kiss checked off like a mundane grocery item and he didn't even get to see fireworks. For something _so_ unbelievably hyped up in all the movies, for some reason he'd thought kissing would feel a bit more spectacular than two slimy muscles making contact for a few seconds. Honestly, Dean's first kiss felt more like a big rip-off than anything; like he ordered a wedding cake and got a sugar cookie. But at least Robin seemed happy when all was said and done, smiling nonstop while her friends kept nagging her with question after question. If nothing else, Dean's social status was protected another day._

It felt like his thigh was being ground into a paste, devoid of feeling but under a pressure so great he unknowingly groaned aloud. Suddenly, the pressure ceased and he could hear the sound of shuffling in front of him. A few tense moments passed before the pressure continued with determination, leaving Dean to pathetically squirm in the meantime while his muscles were still useless. _Wait, aren't I..._ Dean was sure he'd been dead. There was no way he could have survived that damned mutt attack any way he could frame it. Their little career pack had done the inexcusable: they'd disappointed the Capitol, made one too many stupid mistakes and then had the audacity to try breaking up early. Otherwise, why would they send the mutts? If he'd somehow survived, then maybe some fans still had faith in him yet and pulled a few strings.

_That has to be it._ Dean reasoned, feeling another gentle tug at his forearm this time. _Or it was merely a scare tactic, something to spice up the plot. _Of course the Capitol would never want their precious Careers dead, only split up. They must have gotten as tired of the petty bickering and awkward stretches of silence as Dean had and wanted a change of dynamics. Not to mention their pathetic kill count. Maybe Dean or the others had been driven closer to other tributes on purpose in the hopes of furthering their "game progress". Secretly, he hoped this wasn't the case, at least not yet. With the physical state he was in, Dean figured he could be offed by a particularly strong gust of wind, let alone another tribute. How unfortunate that it was only the second day and he'd already managed to get himself mauled.

... But was it still only the second day? Shit. Now that Dean actually thought about it, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since he'd first lost consciousness until now when he was - did this count as consciousness? He felt completely numb aside from a dull pain radiating throughout his entire body and all his senses were still fuzzy, giving him no clues as to where he was or if he was even alone. Now there was a terrifying thought. Even if one of his so-called "allies" had managed to come to his rescue, he wouldn't trust any one of them to not take advantage of the situation somehow. Again, Dean was left deeply confused. If not the Capitol mutts, then any other tribute would gladly have killed him off by now, given the chance. So _why_ was he still alive?

Could there even exist a tribute idiotic enough to waste precious medical supplies trying to revive a Career? A Career proven capable of murder having been raised all his life to feel nothing? The brother of a boy who at sixteen years old snapped the necks of thirteen children? No, a tribute like that did not survive this long. There had to be another game they were playing, some long-winded web of manipulation they were hoping to ensnare him with. Maybe they were only healing him in the hopes of torturing out the locations of his "teammates". Maybe his so-called savior was a teammate themselves hoping to garner some sympathy from the Capitol who adored the occasional show of loyalty (he admitted this outcome was a tad optimistic).

Whatever the scenario, Dean prepared to assess and eventually destroy. Oddly enough, this half-assed plan of action managed to relax his paranoid thoughts just a little in simply knowing he had the ability to strategize even if his physical "my body is a weapon" state wasn't quite there yet. Once the person healing him had finished the job, for whatever their reason may be, Dean would have to personally thank them by making it quick just as Sam had. He couldn't help but deflate a bit thinking of how his baby brother was faring at home, watching him get wrung through the wood chipper then reassembled under a stranger's mercy. He could only hope the other victors were taking good care of him while his father was likely off on some kind of rage he felt a pathetic relief in missing.

Dean was lucky that Sammy hadn't been thrust into any kind of peril too great for his training to get him out of whilst in his game; or hell, any peril even close to mauling by invisible hounds. He really couldn't imagine what this experience must be like for his brother, on top of what PTSD he'd already accumulated from his own time in the arena. The guilt clawed at Dean's heart while he heard footsteps retreating from his (it must be a sitting position) place on the floor. Yes, it had to be a floor. He could feel the splintered edges of wooden boards digging into his ass along with a few smooth bumps which he guessed could only be nails. Odd as the situation may be, one of the only places Dean could determine he felt actual sensation apart from numbness was his rear end, where he could feel all the wonderful soreness that came with sitting in one specific spot for an immeasurable amount of time. His health regimen instructor would be pulling her hair out by now. _Or is, since she's no doubt watching too._

Dean sighed, the embarrassment he'd felt so strongly earlier flooding back full force. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was really such a great idea to volunteer himself after all, especially considering that Benny was the academy's top male pick for a reason. Talented as he may be, Dean admitted to not being the _best_ candidate District One had to offer for that particular year and he was painfully reminded of this fact when he tried shifting only to seize up in agony at the small movement. It seemed whatever numbing solution he'd been granted by his anonymous caregiver ran dry when it came to action of any kind. Which made sense. Either that's where Capitol aid drew the line or the mystery tribute was not so keen on allowing him autonomy, both of which made sense. Not that it made the reality any less frustrating.

He sighed once more, his one act of painless independence, and remained still until he drifted again into unconsciousness.

...

The first time Dean awoke - _really_ awoke - into full awareness, he could finally confirm a few of the things he'd been suspecting. For one, he was indoors, sitting on a wooden floor. Intense sunlight shone through a tiny window slot in an otherwise impenetrable stone wall that curved to encompass the entire room, or really the small cramped space he found himself currently trapped in. When he felt brave enough to try moving for the second time, pain once again flared through his forearm though not nearly as extreme as it had however long ago since he'd first tried. Tentatively, he wiggled his fingers. Fine. He wiggled his wrists and they ground roughly against a prickly texture Dean could identify immediately as rope. He groaned and tugged futilely at the complex knot but it held steadfast against his efforts, a testament to the knotter's skill.

He determined that the hands bound behind him were wrapped securely around a thick wooden pole, what seemed to be the room's centerpiece and thick enough so his hands didn't quite reach each other but were left instead to be held on either side of the broad structure. Of course the mystery tribute would think to leave him tied up like a lonely dog outside a supermarket; wouldn't want the patient to escape without a farewell after all. Seriously, how did Dean manage to get himself wrapped up in this mess? It seemed the best he could do then was simply continue to observe his predicament and wait to meet his captor if they ever did arrive, so that's what he did.

The pole stretched from floor to ceiling, a ceiling only a foot or two higher than Dean's head sitting down and a floor the length of only two Dean Winchester legs if his feet pressing up against the stone wall indicated overall size. And if the architect was precise about the pole's central position. Dean would have laughed at the hilarity of his situation if the cameras wouldn't think him insane. Honestly, here he was in the bloody Hunger Games considering architectural measurements while his allies were either dead or out to get him and he sat tied to a pole too fat to dance on, not that he was considering _that_ but the thought was amusing. A stripper pole in the Hunger Games. Someone had to have pitched that at some point and this was the compromise. Maybe Dean could make a compromise with his captor: one dance for freedom. Wouldn't that be a sight.

Aside from that lovely and unremarkable piece of furnishing, the room was rather sparse - only containing a single backpack slumped against the wall, just below the window slot and out of Dean's reach. Bummer. And as if that tease weren't enough, there was not a single door in sight, leaving only a gigantic question mark as to how he got in there in the first place and how he could get out. Unless the Capitol invented teleportation, he really didn't see how this was possible. He'd even managed to painfully twist his body around enough so he could see behind the fucking pole and nothing. He was just about ready to accept the possibility of a teleporting, kidnapping, healing mutt when he witnessed a perfect square section of the floor uproot and shift aside, revealing a hole and two hands climbing up. Dean tensed, ready yet wholly unprepared to meet his captor.

He stayed wrenched in his uncomfortable position facing behind the pole just to watch as the captor's back was slowly revealed to him. Him, the captor was a him. Briefly, he considered turning back around out of fear of having to meet the guy who'd spent an undisclosed amount of time working to keep him alive. The thought stirred something odd in Dean, the fact that while he was completely helpless and vulnerable someone had taken it upon himself to care for him at great personal cost. Whatever this stranger's questionable endgame seemed to be, Dean just couldn't wrap his head around it. Then again, he was still tied to a pole so how kind could he be? The guy finished his climb and turned to carefully position the trapdoor back in its hiding place along the other floorboards, blue gaze fixed on his task.

Dean gasped involuntarily, causing the boy's eyes to snap up in alarm and meet Dean's in an improvised stare-off that neither party wanted. He hated to gasp like an actor in a cheesy Capitol soap but he couldn't possibly believe the picture laid before him. The boy who'd rescued, healed, and held him captive all this time - _him_, the big bad Career - was none other than Castiel Novak. The boy he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time studying from afar, who hadn't so much as approached a knife in all three days of training and now had the eldest Winchester completely at his mercy. Although, oddly enough, Dean didn't feel afraid. He knew he should be - no matter how nonthreatening a tribute can appear, anything is possible when it's kill or be killed - but he simply couldn't bring himself to be overly anxious under Castiel's calm if shy exterior.

"Oh." Castiel cleared his throat and straightened, breaking the frozen spell hanging in the air. "You're awake."

"Yeah." Dean was surprised by how gravelly his voice had gotten with disuse, like nails in a blender.

Slowly, Castiel stood and walked the length of the room to face Dean where he didn't have to stretch, an action he was secretly grateful for even if his anxieties regarding captivity were steadily returning. They didn't cease even as Castiel sat facing Dean and it became clear he was unarmed. That didn't mean he wasn't concealing any weapons in his cargo pockets or the neglected backpack. The uncertainty surrounding the whole situation put Dean on edge no matter how much he wanted to trust the other. Even after all the time he'd had to mull over the possible motivations someone could have to do this, he'd still come up empty. Dean had no idea what Castiel wanted from him and that meant he was stuck at a disadvantage. Well, _more_ of a disadvantage. Only one of them was tied to a pole.

"So, how are you feeling?" Castiel surprised him by asking. Dean only blinked incredulously in response. Castiel coughed. "I mean, physically. I was able to patch up the bites on your arms and back but there's a large one on your right calf that's... particularly deep. Are you able to move it?"

"The fuck do you want from me." Dean spat.

Castiel flinched back, more resembling a deer in the headlights than a criminal mastermind, but Dean was fed up with beating around the bush. The sooner he knew what he was up against, the sooner he could formulate a plan of escape and continue what it was he'd been made for, and that was winning the Hunger Games. He'd prepared for far too long, made far too many promises to let the first pretty face - _objectively_ \- try to get in his head. Although... Castiel bore a very convincing innocence look if he was honest. It was almost too convincing, the way he shifted awkwardly and had to take a moment before answering.

"I don't have to want anything. I'm the one in charge here, not you." He spoke steady, authoritative, and met Dean's hostile gaze with an even calmness.

"Look, I don't mean to be an ungrateful patient or whatever, but there's no way you've been playing doctor all this time instead of leaving me for dead just out of the goodness of your little heart. You have to want something." Dean pressed.

Castiel scoffed, averting his gaze. "You Careers are all the same. You think the only things that matter out here are progress and strategy, never mind the trail of bodies left in your wake or the grieving families you'll have to face one day, knowing you killed their child."

"Wow." Dean whistled, all the while struggling to suppress the anger and shame he felt at hearing Castiel's words. It couldn't get to him now. "So, what then? This is out of revenge? You went to all this trouble to fix me up just so you could give me a piece of your mind and_ then_ kill me?"

Castiel sighed. "I did this out of mercy, Dean. Because I thought it was the right thing to do. That's something someone like you will never be able to appreciate."

Dean opened his mouth, ready with another fiery retort, before he realized something. "... You know my name?"

Castiel balked, his cheeks flushing red for a moment before he quickly recomposed himself. "Well, of course I do. Everyone does. You have quite the reputation."

Dean grinned. "I suppose that's true. Too bad I don't know yours."

Dean was being cruel, he knew it, but he also wasn't the one who started it. Castiel's eyes narrowed, seemingly in attempt to read Dean's teasing expression, but soon gave up.

"It's Castiel." He ground out.

"Nice to meet you, Cas. I'd shake your hand but I'm a bit tied up at the moment." Dean winked.

Cas rolled his eyes. "I never said you could call me Cas."

"You never said I couldn't."

His mouth opened. Then closed. He stared back at Dean incredulously before seeming to give up the nowhere conversation and focus on his cargo pockets instead. Dean sometimes had that effect on people. He noticed Cas (he did really like that nickname) casually reach a hand into one of the pockets and tensed; despite all his talk about peace and righteousness, he still fully expected some kind of weapon or torture device to pop out and for this whole confrontation-cute to turn into a splatter party, but of course it was only gauze and a small steel container that emerged. _A container of poison?_ Dean cursed his paranoid side. Which was kind of all his sides.

"I didn't come up here to fight. I only wanted to change your bandages and reapply the antibacterial salve." Cas explained.

"Well, then. Don't let me stop you." Dean conceded, leaning back dramatically to give Cas the space he needed.

With great effort, he also managed to force down the buzzing nerves which told him to shrink away at the thought of being touched by this boy from District Twelve, this boy who'd already been touching him all over in the time he was out of commission. Somehow, the thought of _that_ only caused the butterflies in his stomach to multiply and Dean quickly averted his gaze from where Cas was already gently turning his right leg, still terrifyingly numb, into a position where he could treat the gaping wound. The wound Dean had been completely unaware of until this moment, but was apparently bad enough that Cas had felt the need to ask him if he could move it. On a whim, Dean kicked out the leg Cas had cradled in his hands, and immediately after released an embarrassingly loud scream in pain. But holy _fuck_ did that hurt. He could feel the injury site throbbing.

Cas's eyes snapped up worriedly, genuine concern written across his features that Dean was surprised to see there.

"Dean, why on earth would you do that? You know it's still healing." Cas scolded, fearful and perplexed at the same time.

"You wanted me to try moving it; I was worried." Dean defended.

Cas only shook his head. "Move it _carefully_ to make sure the nerves aren't dead. You've still got a long ways to go before it won't feel like a stabbing every time."

Dean visibly deflated. "But I don't have a long ways to spare. I need it moving now."

"Just... relax. I'm going to try and help that happen, alright?" Cas hesitantly comforted.

Dean gulped, nodding. He stayed completely still as Cas went to work un-bandaging his calf, choosing to look away when the gore was revealed and only felt instead of witnessed the salve being spread by gentle fingers working efficiently and then the soft texture of the gauze being applied. The process was repeated four more times in other bite areas before Cas retreated and silently tucked the medical tools away. Dean wanted to keep the safe silence, he did, but another strange and large part of himself wanted to know more about his righteous caretaker and his need to satisfy the many questions on the tip of his tongue won out before Cas could leave. He wanted to ask; _How long have I been unconscious?, Who else is still alive?_ and _How long are you planning on keeping me here, tied to this pole?_ but instead what came out was -

"So, were you a doctor in Twelve or are you just kind of winging it?"

Cas blinked in surprise for the third time that day as he probably hadn't expected any more words out of him now that the confrontation part was over, but Dean felt grateful that he laughed lightly anyway and sat back, presumably thinking it over.

"If you're asking whether or not I attended real medical school for a PhD, then the answer is no. Only the town kids can afford stuff like that." Cas smiled sadly. "My dad taught me and my siblings everything we know about patching people up so we could take of each other, and occasionally others when they have nowhere else to go."

"Others? Like, neighbors and stuff?" Dean didn't even know his neighbors before his family moved into Victor Village and the only person he ever went to for injuries was the specialized academy doctor who worked in the city center, a man who absolutely attended medical school.

"Yes. Or sometimes kids and coal miners from the Seam will come to our house when they go over their monthly budget for medical expenses. We use a lot of natural stuff that's free and easy to find, so it's really not a problem." Cas smiled, not sadly. "Helps in situations like these."

Dean smiled back, hesitating for a moment. "You live in the Seam?"

"No, we're a teacher family. Grew up right next to the elementary school where my dad works. He's luckier than most."

Dean wanted to add something to the conversation, add something about his own life, but he felt doing so after hearing Cas's story would only further make him out to be the spoiled trophy son Cas already thought he was, what he actually was. For some reason, he didn't want to make their inequalities that much more pronounced. He stayed silent. Then he finally asked a practical question for once.

"How long have I been unconscious?" The question was unprecedented, but hadn't they all been?

Cas hesitated.

"_Cas_."

"It's Castiel."

"I don't care." Dean retorted. "How long has it been? Who's died, etc.? Tell me it hasn't been any longer than a week."

"It hasn't... yet. Today would be the sev-," Cas bit his lip, thinking. Dean's eyes absently tracked the movement. "The seventh day. And it should be nearing sunset."

"You have got be fucking kidding me." Dean growled, dramatically rolling his head back so it banged against the pole. "Day Seven, and I'm stuck here?"

"U-um," Castiel scratched his head sheepishly, "Actually, it's been seven days since you've _been_ here. Add the two days beforehand and it's Day Nine of the games."

"Great, great. That's just fantastic." Dean muttered, suddenly feeling very confined in the ropes he was still bound in and tugged at them in irritation despite the pain they caused.

"Oh no, don't do that." Cas rushed to frantically still his arm. "It'll just put more pressure on your cuts."

"Then why the hell are these ropes even here, huh?" Dean spat, his earlier defensiveness flooding back with all the anger and panic bubbling up. "If you really want me to get better so bad, then just take them off."

Cas's jaw clenched and he looked away. "You of all people should realize the stupidity in that plan."

Dean scoffed. "You don't know, maybe I'll spare you."

Cas glared, slowly rising to stand so he towered over Dean's spot on the floor. "Stay still, or don't. It's your life at stake, not mine."

With that, he turned and began walking again to the trapdoor, leaving Dean to once again struggle against his pole to face him angrily.

"So, what then? Are you just planning on keeping me here forever, your little prisoner upstairs?" He spat.

Cas unhinged the square delicately and set it aside, turning to slowly begin his descent without bothering a glance, let alone a response, to Dean who continued struggling aimlessly. He watched, dismayed, as the top brown strands of Castiel's hair disappeared beneath the floor, the square placed gently back where it belonged, deceivingly just like all the rest of the plain wooden planks. And he waited there, stubbornly, for a few more seconds before wrenching his body painfully back to its natural position. Dean had never felt so lost or hopeless. For the first time, he had no plan, no power, and yet he didn't truly despise his captor the way he was supposed to. He couldn't help but feel weak and stupid around Cas, a kid who'd never picked up a sword in his life, never trained through sweat and tears into the wee hours of sunrise or practiced interviews in the mirror.

Nothing had gone right since the bloodbath, not one damned thing and it all led back to Dean's idiotic decision to march into hell before heaven. It was just all so... _different_ from the way he imagined it as a kid growing up around game fanatics and then a victor for a brother. Sam's arena had been a mountain range in the summertime, lush with forest and vegetation and no weird confusing shows of creativity that Dean had to put up with. It was about the same as it was every year: Careers hunted together, ran out of tributes, turned on each other. Call it cookie-cutter television, but the thought was more comforting than isolation and unpredictability. Dean thought he heard a soft 'bump' from behind him and hurriedly shifted himself to stare down the trap door, his emotions alive with such a confusing buzz that it felt nothing and everything.

He waited. For seconds, minutes, hours? Until the ruined skin beneath his bandages throbbed and the sliver of light from outside dimmed into darkness. He waited and the floor did not shift again, did not unearth to reveal some mysterious boy to break the dreadful dark and silence of the room. Dean moved, slowly, back to the natural position the ropes seemed to want him in and stared into black nothing, deciding then to focus all his remaining energy in trying not to cry.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for reading and to those of you who waited, you waited far too long and I apologize. This is still going to be a sporadically updated story, but I hope you know I do not plan on forgetting it. Even after all this time, it's a joy to write these characters and this setting (unfortunately for them) and I appreciate all the wonderful support I have received in the meantime; you guys really are a treasure lol. Until next time, I hope the odds are in your favor!_


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